


Manescape: Torment

by appending_fic



Category: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Planescape: Torment
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Morally Ambiguous Character, Past Lives, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 59,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4096168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appending_fic/pseuds/appending_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A unicorn pony awakes in a mortuary, with no memory of who she is. As she explores the world around, her, she discovers that she possesses the gift of immortality, reviving on each death. In trying to reconcile her current self to her past lives, she must also decide whether to pursue the goals of those prior selves who wanted nothing more than to end the cycle...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nobody Said Dying Was Easy

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually something that's been sitting, unfinished, on fimfiction for a while, so I decided to revive it over here. It's a weird little story, but no apologies.
> 
> I beg you, if you like ponies, don't ignore it just because you don't know anything about Planescape. I try to ensure that you pick up what you need from this story, as the main character's in the same boat as you.

Everything hurts. You’ve heard that phrase before, and scoffed at it, but now...everything hurts. Places you couldn’t name, every muscle, every inch of skin, even your eyes forced shut. You stir, and find the cold stone against your skin makes everything hurt more. You groan in frustration.

“Hey! Are you alive?” Something pokes against your stomach. “Or are you just doing that groaning thing corpses sometimes do?”

You reach out and swat at the offender, forcing your eyes open at the same time. Pink floods your vision, in part because of the shade of the creature assaulting you, and in part because of the drabness of the background.

You draw back, and see only the face, framed with the hood of a grey cloak, is so maddeningly pink, bright blue eyes shining in the center of it.

"Hi! I'm Pinkie!" the creature declares, raising and holding out a hoof to shake. Hesitantly you raise a limb, a hoof like hers, and press is against hers. "I just know we're going to be great friends! What's your name?"

You open your mouth and...pause. A name eludes your mental grasp. You dig deeper, and find nothing to quench your thirst for answers. No name. No history. And yet you recognize such things as a hoof. You wonder how deep this loss goes, what might be lurking in your memories...

A hoof raps against your forehead, or rather, something protruding from it. You yelp and jerk your head away. Pinkie is still grinning at you. "Hey? You okay? Jeez, what a dumb question. You were lying in a morgue. Somebody obviously thought you were dead. Hee. You're lucky I hadn't started the embalming. That would have been awkward, right?"

You try making sense of the words, but only a few points make it through the sea of babbling. "I'm dead?"

"Pfft! Of course not! Well, maybe. I've heard people argue the rules don't say anything about what you can and can't do while dead. So you could be. But I've always thought that was a little silly. But so is THAC0, and that's how things work, so-"

"You said we were in a morgue," you say, desperate to cut through the incessant babbling.

Pinkie raises a hoof thoughtfully to her chin. "Yeah. Sort of. It's a mortuary, really. A morgue's where you store people until they're ready to be buried, and this...isn't." A weak groan fills the silence, and you jerk around, losing your balance and falling to the floor. You had been resting on a wide stone slab, like half a dozen scattered about the room, itself carved of dull stone. Shelves full of medical equipment rest against the walls, although given the nature of the place, you doubt they are there to provide healing.

The groan comes gain, closer, and you raise your head hesitantly over the slab. A humanoid creature lumbers toward you, groaning at odd intervals. Its flesh is pale and lifeless, covered in stitches and stinking of strange chemicals.

Not living, but not dead. Undead. The word comes unbidden, and you shudder at the thought of it. You are unarmed, know no means of defense, and have as company only a mad earth pony (and how do you know Pinkie's species when you have no idea of your own?) as company.

You turn to her, but she has trotted forward, almost to the dead thing. She sets her legs apart and commands, "Stop!"

The thing continues forward. Pinkie stumbles back. "Whoops! Flubbed that Charisma check. Come on, stop!"

The corpse pauses, tilting its head as it examines Pinkie. It does not move again, but continues its intermittent groaning.

Pinkie glances back at you, grin back as if she hadn't almost been attacked by...

The thought hits you like a physical force. Not a morgue, because dead people are not brought here to be buried. But a mortuary, where they are...

"Were you going to turn me into one of those things?" you demand, your stomach turning at the thought.

"What? No!" Relief floods through you. "I'm a bard; I don't know that spell. I just do the embalming." The relief drains away. Pinkie's grin widens, if that's even possible, and she leans close. "You can't blame us; you look _really_  dead."

"What?"

Pinkie produces a full-length mirror from somewhere and you get the first, shocked look at yourself. You don't blame anyone who thought you were dead. Old scars cover almost every square inch of your body; whatever color your coat was, it is hidden beneath grey scar tissue. Your mane and tail are scorched and cropped close to your head, and the horn rising from your head is nocked and chipped.

"Doesn’t seem to have done much to that tattoo on your flank, though," Pinkie points out. The words don't register, so fascinated you are by this creature in the mirror. You look as though you have survived a lifetime of war. You catch sight of a flash of color, suddenly, and twist your head to try and see.

"Pinkie, what's on the back of my neck?"

The pink pony twists her head to look. "Hey! It's a letter! 'I know you feel lost, but you need to CENTER yourself. Your effects should include a journal which will fill you in. Blueblood should have the rest, if he isn't in the Dead Book already.' Huh."

"What? Is that it?"

"Nope. 'Don't lose that journal or we'll be back to the start again. And don't tell anyone WHO you are or WHAT happens to you, or they'll find a way to make this stick. And don't--forget, FIND the journal and FIND Blueblood.' Ergh."

"What?" you demand. "There isn't any more, is there?"

"Nope," Pinkie says cheerily. "Just not too thrilled about seeing Blueblood. He's the Prince of Thieves and not a nice pony at all."

You sigh. You somehow doubted someone you'd made friends with looking like this would be a saint, but...what worries you is the implication that things like this have happened before. How many times have you woken up in the Mortuary?

There aren't any answers to be found here, that's for sure. "Well, first things first. How do I get out of here?"

"Um." Pinkie shifts uneasily back and forth, and the wide, blue-eyed gaze she gives you is somewhat sheepish. "They don't like corpses getting up and walking around, and they _really_  don't like intruders." She then shakes her head, as if banishing the thought. "We'll go see Iggy!"

"Who?"

But Pinkie, deciding the issue was decided, pushes you along through several identical stone rooms filled with corpses - human, pony, and others you don't recognize - into a large room dominated by an earth pony stallion writing in a book twice as large as he is.

The stallion, tan with grey hair whitening with age, turns a sharp, square muzzle toward you, glaring at Pinkie. "Acolyte, some might argue that you have made a grave error when you are assigned to embalm a corpse and return with a living creature in tow."

Pinkie giggles, earning a narrowing of the stallion's eyes. "This is no laughing matter, Acolyte."

"But you called this a 'grave' error, Iggy. Get it?"

You almost snort, but the stallion appears unamused. "I understand you have-" He breaks off, staring at you with wide, caramel-colored eyes. "Oh Lady, not you again."

Hope rises in your chest. "You know me?"

"As well as any who still lives," he says dryly.

"Then you know my name?"

At that, at last, the stallion let out a guffaw. "Now that is funny. I have seen you in this place before, and those you have travelled with, but never have I met man, pony, angel or demon that knows your name."

Your mind is awhirl with questions at his words. "My companions? Where are they? What _is_  this place? How did I get here?"

The stallion raises a hoof to forestall your words. "One at a time. This is the Mortuary of the Dustmen. We tend to the dead, and give use to the bodies of those that have passed into True Death."

"True-"

"This life is brutal and miserable. Pain suffuses every waking moment, and the planes rock with the wars between gods, kings, and the Blood War. Life is pain." He shoots a glance to Pinkie, who has crouched low at his impassioned lecture. "Only the release into True Death - passing beyond the reach of any man or god - offers solace from this pain. We offer respect for those who have died, and reach out to show those the sorrows of life."

A sinking feeling gives you the idea you know what this man meant when he said he'd seen your companions. Pinkie, to your right, is all but huddled into a miserable pile; Iggy looks somewhat self-satisfied, but turns back to you.

"As to how you came here, there are those who bring the forgotten dead to us, so that their shells may serve our purpose even as their spirits have passed from this life. You..." He glances down at his book, and snorts. "Blueblood's people brought you here."

"Pinkie called him the Prince of Thieves."

"Apt enough. He rules a place below this quarter of the city, and fancies he rules the Hive. Some suggest he brings us the dead in hope of appeasing Death herself." His mouth curls upward in an expression of mockery or amusement; his beliefs, at least, have no truck with such thoughts. "But you had other questions, of your companions. There is only one I know of entombed here. A dragon rests in our mausoleum; I do not remember the name, but I know well he travelled with you."

A shiver runs down your spine at the words. You're not certain if that is the echoes of a memory, or awe at the fact you had tamed a dragon to travel with you.

"Now begone. I have work to do."

Pinkie drags you away without further prompting; she is uncharacteristically silent, at least until you are out of earshot.

Well. Out of earshot for most people. You suspect everyone in the building can still hear her when she speaks.

"Wow! You really traveled with a dragon?"

"I-"

"And I didn't realize you knew Iggy. Does he lecture you all the time, too?" When Pinkie next speaks, her voice is deeper, a fair approximation of the dust-dry voice of the bookkeeper Iggy. "This vale of tears is miserable; men are to contemplate the peace of True Death, not chatter on about frivolous nonsense!" She sticks out her tongue and makes a rude noise before grinning, tilting her head inquisitively at you. "So?"

You sigh. The tattoo on your neck warned you not to tell anyone about what happens to you, but you have the feeling you're going to have to trust somebody to get out of here. "I don't really remember. Not my name, or much of anything, really. That tattoo is about as much as I know about myself."

Pinkie sits down, and for a moment, her hood, held up by her mane, a poofy mass of pink, slumps as the mane flattens abruptly. It poofs back into shape as Pinkie hops back up, grin as wide as you've seen it.

"A mystery!" she declares exuberantly. She bounces around you in a tight circle before stopping in front of you, crouched like a dog. "I knew looking at you that you'd be the start of something exciting. I always see corpses from people that had exciting adventures, and here we are with a plot hook already!"

"Wait. What?"

Pinkie rolls her eyes. "Well, obviously you're going on an epic quest to discover your backstory, right? I'm gonna help!" She settles back, still grinning, and you wonder idly what it would take to take that smile from her face.

_"Please! Don't leave me here! I've seen things! I can help you!"_

_You stare at the pink pony, whose coat is dulled by the power that steals life and vibrancy from this place. Her eyes are wide and panicked, and her mouth twisted downward by the fear of remaining trapped here, where no one laughs._

You reel as your mind returns to the present, nearly stumbling over Pinkie. She catches you, laughing, and you are left with more questions than ever. Was that a memory? If so, you've obviously met Pinkie before, and she's pretending you're strangers. And if not...the source of such a vivid hallucination is as much a concern as that.

"Are you okay?" She looks at you, looking so worried and sincere that you're almost certain she isn't the panicked creature bargaining for her life.

You shrug. "Just thought I saw something familiar. Can you take me down to where my dragon friend would be buried?"

"Okie-dokie-lokie!" she responds, and bounds off to lead the way.

The floor beneath the room you found yourself in is much nicer, a place of arching rooms and fine stonework. Columns support the great arches, carved with death masks and curling lilies. Plaques line the walls, interspersed with headstones and doors to small crypts. Drawn by a feeling you cannot name, you follow the edge of the wall, walking a curved path along the outside of the rooms. Pinkie trails you, silent out of respect for the dead.

At last you reach...a magnificent piece of work. A statue of a dragon rests against one of the walls. Six times the height of a pony, spines run the length of his body, even as the creature was carved at rest, curled around a headstone that marks the name...Spike.

Something about the statue changes as you approach it. You thought it was carved of the plain grey stone as the rest of this place, but it glitters violet, as if the stone conceals veins of amethyst. The eyes contain the glitter of emeralds. And a strange emblem, an oval pointed at the short ends and melding into long bars at the long ends, appears on the forehead.

"At long last you've come to see your precious Spike." You jump at the deep voice that echoes from the statue; it sounds gravelly but also somehow young, and muffled, as if drawn through a veil. The statue chuckles, and you wonder if it's your imagination that the lips curl upward. "So jumpy. But maybe you grow weary of being surrounded by the dead."

You stand frozen in your hooves, uncertain how to proceed. Certainly the dragon recognizes you, but you have no idea how to proceed. Demanding who he is...well. That seems a little cold.

"I needed to pay my respects," you say at last.

"You did?" There is a note of pleasure in his voice, and, worse, surprise. "I was beginning to wonder if you cared at all..." He gives out a rumbling sigh. "It's good to see you again, even if we're still apart. Unless...have you learned how to die?"

"It seems that isn't something you need to learn."

Spike laughs again. "You have plenty of practice, but you don't seem to have learned the trick to it, yet."

There seems to be no arguing, given that you awoke on a slab with the Dustmen certain you were dead already.

"And do you know why...I can't die?"

The dragon falls silent, and there is something dangerous about the pause. When he next speaks, his voice is weary and weaker. "Of course, I should have known. Dead again, and come to me for you memories. I last knew you searching for a way to end your curse of immortality. As you are here again, I doubt you found it."

"Curse?" you ask. "It seems like plenty of people would kill for this curse."

Spike's laughter was louder this time, and held a mocking tone. "Even then you knew. Every death steals your thoughts and memories. Every death steals a piece of yourself. Your only hope is to learn to die, or you'll lose everything that matters."

The words seem mad, but your mind sings out in recognition. And there is the fact you awoke in this place with no memory of your past life. "Then help me, Spike," you whisper. A thought or memory strikes you, and you add, "I want to join you in True Death."

The dragon sighs, and the wistful sound breaks your heart. Because you have no memory of him, nothing to know if he ever meant anything to you, and you know the words come from some part of yourself that only wants an answer.

_No_ , you think. He waited for you. He rested here waiting in the hope you would give him comfort. "I will find a way," you declare to him and Pinkie and all who might hear. "I will ensure True Death takes both of us together. You won't be alone any more."

He lets out a shuddering sigh, and when Spike speaks again, his voice is stronger, no longer muffled and lacking the pain and loneliness it held throughout the conversation.

"This is what my eyes see, unfettered by the shackles of time.

"You shall meet enemies three, but none more dangerous than yourself in your full glory. 

"They are shades of law, of chaos, and of neutrality, given life and twisted by the laws of the planes.

"You shall come to a prison built of regrets and sorrow, where the shadows themselves have gone mad. There you will be asked to make a terrible sacrifice. For the matter to be laid to rest, you must destroy that which keeps you alive and be immortal no longer."

The world seems to shift, and then the statue is still and made of grey stone, and Pinkie is bouncing at your side. "Hey! You alright? You've been standing there for an awfully long time. Oh my goodness, you didn't have a sudden relapse of death, did you?"

You shake your head, trying to root yourself in the present. Was that a dream, a memory, or something else? Pinkie obviously hasn't seen it. You glance sidelong at her, wondering if you should tell her. But like the flash when you wondered if she ever frowned, you're not certain how real it is.

You decide to keep it to yourself. Shaking your head, you reply, "It's nothing. I was just trying to remember who he was. Come on. I'm getting sick of this place. Where's the exit?"

"Ooh! I know that one!" Pinkie declares, giving a spectacular bounce. "Come on, once we're outside I can really show you Canterlot!"


	2. Already Distracted By Sidequests

The name Canterlot sounded majestic. At the name, you had briefly entertained thoughts of towering, glittering spires, white stone polished to shine like diamonds, and glorious riches showing the glory of a great city.

At least there are towers, you think, as Pinkie leads you out the front gate (apparently, visiting one of the graves makes a legitimate excuse to be in the Mortuary, even if you started out a corpse). The rest...is less impressive. You can't imagine how streets could be filthier without a deliberate effort. Trash, debris, and more unpleasant things are sprawled and piled throughout the street, leaving the people, most dressed in rags or worn clothing, to walk around or wade through it. The buildings are, to the last, falling apart, whether they were shaped of stone or wood. Even the light is dull and wan, forcing you to squint to see anything.

"Well, this is a fantastic sight," you drawl. "I'm thrilled you were able to show this to me."

Pinkie giggles. "Of course I wasn't excited to show you the Hive, silly. Look up."

By some instinct, you know that a horizon is supposed to curve downward, revealing a view of the sky. The view, therefore, of a sky full of crowded streets curving up into a titanic circle, jars something in you even as you marvel at the sight. "What in the world?"

"It's Canterlot, silly!" Pinkie giggles. "It's on the inside of a gigantic donut-"

"Torus," you correct automatically.

Pinkie doesn't notice, continuing on without interruption. "And it sits on top of a huuuuuuuuge mountain at the center of the planes, even though the Outlands are supposed to be infinite, making me wonder sometimes if it's not really in the center, just sort of in the center. Or not at all in the center, but that makes everything really confusing."

"It's impossible," you say flatly, and that catches Pinkie's attention. She slaps a hoof over your mouth.

"Don't let anyone hear you say that," she growls, sending suspicious glares in every direction. "Especially not the zebras."

"Why?" you demand. "And wait - zebras?"

Pinkie rolls her eyes. "In the planes, if enough people believe something, it comes true. So if enough people believe Canterlot is impossible...poof!" She emphasizes this by slamming her front hooves together.

"Poof?"

"Poof," Pinkie confirms with a sharp nod. "Anyway, the zebras are the Lady's special servants. They don't talk much, but they keep the place running. You don't want to mess with them, or you'll be in big trouble."

You nod absent-mindedly, uncertain exactly how things could get worse for you. In the corner of your eye, something catches your attention. An earth pony mare, pale blue with greying hair and wild eyes, gallops past you. In a few moments she gallops past the other way. People, ponies, and creatures alike stay clear of her as she passes, and none make eye contact.

“Who is that?”

Pinkie frowns as the mare passes. “I’m not sure, and I know everyone around here.”

You’re not certain what impulse sends you after her, but it takes a few moments to catch up. “Miss?”

She whirls, kicking wildly behind her. You barely avoid contact, and think you hear a snigger behind you. The mare, however, slumps once her kick misses. “Be quick,” she pleads.

“What?”

“I don’t care anymore,” she whispers. “Killing me would be a favor, anyway.”

“Kill you?” You want to feel shocked, but there is a flash of thought, or memory. You could crush her throat, bring an end to her suffering. It would be a mercy, wouldn’t it?

No. You shake your head to clear it of the thought. “I don’t think I want to do that.”

“Yeah, running around killing people is majorly evil; if it doesn’t drop you to the south side of the alignment grid, the Lady’ll send you straight to the moon!”

You’ve begun to realize the value in letting Pinkie’s words just wash over you, but the mention of a moon in a sky that’s just more cityscape gives you pause. “The...moon?”

Pinkie bounces barely an inch from your face, smiling widely. “Oh, yeah! No one knows where she really sends people, but everyone knows they’re stuck there FOREVER!”

The bale blue pony shivers. “Oh, no, nowhere’s forever. You find the right door and you’re somewhere else entirely. And the worst part is...a door can be anything. And anything can be a key!” You try to look at Pinkie for confirmation, but the blue mare draws close, eyes wild as she meets your gaze. “I found a door so long ago, and I thought this city was full of wonders. But I couldn’t find the door home. Every door I find goes somewhere terrible.” She shivers and draws back. “I daren’t step through another portal. Nowhere bounded on all four sides…”

She shivers and darts away before you can reply, leaving you staring after her galloping form.

“Jeez, some people just don’t know how to appreciate the wonders of the planes,” Pinkie says. “I love going through portals! You’ll be wandering along, singing a song or juggling, and bam! A whole new world!"

"Well, if you go frightening places, I suppose it would be more of a problem," you allow. You look after the mare, but she's run out of sight. You're not certain what help you could offer, besides putting her out of her misery. "Well, now what?"

Pinkie tips her head, absently reaching up to scratch an ear like a dog. "Well, we're on an adventure. So it seems the best place to start is in a bar. There are always brave and loyal companions you find in a bar. Not to mention sidequests!"

"A...bar." Naturally, you don't really know much about this place, but you're skeptical of Pinkie's claim. Bars don't seem like they'd be much help in finding your memory. They'd be better for forgetting, you'd bet.

"I doubt it's even a real adventure if you don't start in a bar."

There's a tone in Pinkie's voice; you're certain she won't drop the subject until you head into a bar. So you offer a quick glance, and, luckily, catch sight of a sign. "There's a bar over here. The Gathering Dust-"

"No no no, that's a dumb place to go. It's full of Dustmen."

"But aren't you a-"

Pinkie begins to shove you forward past the Gathering Dust bar, ignoring your question as you slide through the crowds. The bystanders seem to be largely ignoring the spectacle you make, although you do catch sight of a unicorn mare, delicate and colored white, almost a pale purple, giving the two of you a stern look.

Pinkie pushes you past large rows of thorn-tipped leaves clinging to the walls of the city, a horde of men, women, ponies, and other strange creatures barking and howling at the sky (such as it is), at last pausing outside a large domed building with a central chimney sending up dark, foul-smelling smoke. You glance at the sign, which bears the shape of a pony smeared in charcoal and-

"The Smoldering Corpse?" You're beginning to wonder if it was a mistake going along with this pony.

Pinkie snorts in amusement. "It's just a name, silly. Come on, let's go in!"

So reassured, you follow Pinkie it.

What dominates your attention on entering is a huge brazier glowing red-hot and setting off waves of heat that are, by the door and where most of the patrons are standing, a comfortable warmth, but are likely blazing near the brazier. Suspended over the brazier, however, is the form of a unicorn, scorched and blackened beyond recognition, and still, inexplicably, burning. Whatever flesh was there must be burned away, however, for the smell, though unpleasant, is not the roasting of meat, but something drier.

It turns your stomach, even as something in the scene tugs at your memory. You turn on Pinkie, though. "You said it was just a name!" you hiss.

"It is! She's not dead; I guess they thought Smoldering Corpse sounded better than Sort of Alive Person Who's On Fire." She offers you a guileless smile, and you don't know if it's better to think she's that naive, or just a good liar.

"Well..." You sigh, unwilling right now to argue. "I wish you'd warned me about this."

"But - oh! I'm sorry. Well, come on! Let's look for plot hooks!"

She bounces toward the bar. You, though, take a look around. There are weird, scaled creatures with bat wings laughing in the back, knots of humanoids, equines, and things indescribable. Nearby is something like the shade of a man standing next to a table. You wonder how he can eat. A yelp draws your gaze to the right, where a flash of rainbow alerts you to a pegasus, sky blue with a mane of many colors; her wings seem tipped with silver, and she wears a harness of worn metal. She appears to be hiding behind a humanoid dressed in a drab grey tunic, an unfortunate contrast that just makes her stand out more. You decide to talk to her first, trotting up to her, trying to look as unthreatening as possible.

"Hi! My name is..." It suddenly strikes you that you have no idea how to introduce yourself! "I..."

"Do I know you?" the pegasus said sharply in a rough, female voice. She gives you a narrow-eyed glare.

Shaken, you take a step away. "I guess not. i was just-"

"Then why are you talking to me?"

"Sorry." You flee the imperious pegasus, cheeks flooded with color, ignoring competing flares of thought, alternatively to kill the pegasus lest she become a threat or demand her obeisance. When you stop, you are standing near the strange, shade-like man, translucent and apparently engaged in watching the bar in its entirety.

"Not lucky with the ladies, are you?" he asks.

The flush returns in full force. "I wasn't - I just wanted to talk."

The man chuckles. "Well, no luck there, either. Terrible shame. She could use some friends."

"A charming pony like her?" The words sound harsh, but you suppose you have reason to feel bitter.

"Don't presume. The planes leave their mark on all of us. Even you, I see. Is there a story behind these scars?"

"Probably, but I don't know it." You offer the man a shrug.

He chuckles. "Very well. My name is Candrian."

"Um...Faust." You're proud of the fast thinking, even as you reach your hoof to shake. "So what are you doing here?"

"Learning about the people of the planes. I've already seen so much of the planes themselves, I thought I'd take a spell to people-watch."

"People have mentioned the planes to me before, but I'm still not clear what they mean."

Candrian's chest puffs out and he stands a little taller. "Then you've come to the right place. The planes are worlds, interlocking and forever entwined. There are planes to represent the four elements - earth, air, fire, and water, and planes of nothingness to bind them together. Outside of them is a ring of planes representing the great alignments - law and chaos, good and evil, and neutrality between all of them. I myself have come back from the plane of negation itself."

"Negation?"

"There is such a thing of life force, the energy of living things. But then there must also be an opposite. I see you arrived with a Dustman; their servants are animated by this opposite, rather than by life. It is poisonous to us, though. That's why I took this." He holds up a charm, which looks like nothing more than a disk of perfect darkness. "It protects me from the shadows."

An echo whispers through your mind, a worry at the mention of shadows. "I don't suppose there's a way I can convince you to part with that, is there?"

He tosses it toward you; you catch it with fumbling hooves. "Take it. I think I'm quite done with the Negative Energy Plane. Besides, it's nice having someone willing to listen to me prattle on about the planes and portals."

"Wait. Portals?" Pinkie and that poor woman had said something about portals.

The man gives you a kind smile. "Tricky things. Yes, portals. They are how I travel the planes. They are how most creatures do it. There are countless doorways between these worlds. Always they are bounded on all four sides, and always is there a key. But what those boundaries are, and what the key is, are infinite in variety." He winks. "I know more about identifying such portals than any living creature, barring the Lady herself."

"The Lady?"

"The Lady of Doors, the Princess of Canterlot. Doorways open and close at her command, and she rules this place. It's well enough; Canterlot is a powerful place, and she keeps the gods from interfering too much."

With that question answered, you're left to wonder about Candrian's claim to know more about portals than anyone else...

"If someone were lost, could you help them find a doorway back home?"

Candrian's expression shifts to one of thoughtfulness. "Possibly. Probably. It'd take a few jumps, but I'm almost certain I could."

"So if I brought someone here, you could get her home?"

"Oh, yes. It would be a marvelous challenge. A nice bit of philanthropy, too. It's good to do your part to stay out of the Blood War."

That...does not sound promising. "Blood War?"

"Among those of evil, there are those who pursue evil as a means to achieve their ends, a sort of lawful, regular evil, and those who pursue evil for the freedom it gives them to indulge in their darker whims. They do not get along. And, being evil, they have engaged in a war that has lasted for ages. The Blood War. Those who die in a state of sin or evil are drawn to it, so it's good to do one's part to keep out of it."

"I'll keep that in mind." Something about the mention of the Blood War chills you. You're not certain if it is merely the fear of an unending war between two types of evil, or some sense of unconscious familiarity...

You find Pinkie Pie near the rainbow-maned pegasus, being shouted at.

"And if you say one more word, I'll pop your empty little head off of your body and use it as a balloon!"

Pinkie opens her mouth to reply, and you slam your hoof over it. "So sorry about her, Miss. She's just trying to be friendly."

"Friendly, my flank," the pegasus mutters.

"We'll just leave you alone now," you say. You drag Pinkie out of danger, waiting until you're out of the bar to start talking. "You should have left her alone, Pinkie."

"But she's destined to help us on our quest!"

"I don't think she agrees, Pinkie. Besides, she was going to pop your head off."

"Pfft. That was all talk. So, any idea where we're going?"

"Back to find that mare. I think I found a way to help her."

Pinkie bounces after you. "Ooh! A sidequest. I love those. Do you think we'll get a great reward?"

"I'm not doing this for a reward," you protest. "She just looked so miserable - hey, Miss!" You cut off your words at the sight of the mare uneasily cantering around the wide square near the Mortuary. She pauses, looking back at you, and freezes. You think she might still be convinced you've come to kill her. "Miss," you say as you trot to her side. "I think I found a man who can help you. He's an expert on portals, and he thinks he can get you home."

"Home?" Her eyes, still wary, wild, widen at the word. "What do you...home?"

You nod eagerly. "He thinks he can do it. He works down this way; I can show you."

Uncertainly, the mare follows as you lead her, but at the door to the Smoldering Corpse, she stops, hooves rooted on the ground. "No. I won't go through another door. Not another portal. Not another world, sucking and bleeding..."

Pinkie rolls her eyes, but you step close. "Miss. No one's ever found a portal here. But I know you're scared. I...we can go together, if you're frightened."

"Together?" Her eyes water at the corners. She looks so lost, but hopeful at your words.

"If it's a portal to anywhere other than the Smoldering Corpse Bar, we'll deal with it together."

The mare took a deep breath and nodded. "Let's go."

And the two of you step through the doorway.


	3. So You Want to Be a Wizard

"That was nice what you did for that mare."

You keep walking, hoping Pinkie will drop the point. After meeting Candrian, the panicked mare had been effusive in her gratefulness, something that leaves you feeling on edge. It makes you worry. What sort of being would feel uncomfortable doing something nice for someone?

"Well like you said, that was a diversion. I'm more concerned about finding this Blueblood. Do you have any idea where to find him?"

"Nooooooooo..."

You give Pinkie a long look. She's refusing to meet your eyes, and shifting nervously from hoof to hoof. You could force it, but...well, it'll come out eventually.

Or you could go about it sneakily, you think, catching sight of the Gathering Dust Bar. Iggy had said Blueblood brought the Dustmen corpses, so someone might know about him.

"Well, I think we might check in to see if your friends know about him."

"Nonono, they won't know anything." Pinkie drops and wraps her hooves around your legs, entangling you and slowing your movements. At your continued gaze, she sighs. "Look, they don't like me much. Say I don't have the right attitude. I do, you know. I think it's important for people to move on. But...why can't we have fun here first?"

Her eyes widen as she explains, bright blue irises seeming to make the plea for her. _Don't take me in there_. You sigh.

"Look, I think I do need to go in there. I'm sure someone would know about Blueblood. But you can wait out here and stay out of trouble."

Pinkie shoots to her hooves and raises one in a salute. "Can do!"

You approach the door to the bar slowly. The bar is built solidly, like the Mortuary itself, with a heavy wood door that very definitely divides the inside from the outside. The Dustmen, it seems, like good metaphors.

A hand on your shoulder arrests your movement. You pause and turn. The woman, a human or something like it, offers you a pleading gaze, even and green and framed by matted greying hair. "Please, ma'am, can you help me?"

You take a step away. "I'm sorry, I don't have any money on me."

She laughs in response. It is a bitter sound. "Money enough we have, but I'd see it gone. It's my husband, Angyar. He sold his body to the Dustmen after his death, but he can't bear the thought of it any longer. They won't take the money back, and it's driving him mad."

"And what do you think I can do?"

"I saw you with that Dustman," the woman says, pointing back at Pinkie Pie, who has managed to get into an argument with a unicorn with striking purple hair. "Surely you can beg some favor from them..."

You're aware of tugs of thought at the woman's plea. What can she give you for it? Why should you help her? She's told you of gold she has; you could kill her and take it. Why should you risk the ire of the Dustmen when you need a favor from them?

You struggle and force the thoughts away. What has she done to deserve violence, selfishness, in response to her plea? And if the Dustmen see you poorly for helping her, maybe Pinkie's right.

"I can try," you say.

The bar is uniformly lit, furnished with sturdy tables and serviceable chairs. Everything has the patina of age, but also of great care. You suppose it’s to be expected from people who embalm and reanimate the dead. Everyone within, whatever species, is dressed in shapeless grey robes. Before you can scan the inhabitants for some sign of who might be able to help you, a slender, dark-skinned human in the common grey cloak approaches.

“Hello, stranger. Are you one of the Dustmen?”

“No. Is that a problem?”

He shakes his head. “The Dustmen welcome all people, because the journey to True Death is one all living things follow. Are you familiar with our philosophy?”

You offer him what you hope is a friendly smile. “Some of it. You think people need to embrace death?”

“Not exactly. People must learn to accept the inevitability of death, so that they can pass from this world with a sense of peace. Have you given thought to the importance of seeking a peaceful death?”

“It’s an attractive concept, but one...I’m having trouble with.” The message on your back warned you not to tell anyone about your fate. But as long as you don’t tell him you can’t die, it should be alright. “But then...so does someone else I met. He signed a contract with you, but he’s regretting it now.”

“We really don’t renege on our contracts,” the man says. “Quite a few people have used them as a means of a short-term loan-”

“But what if a man dies when driven to complete distraction by a contract he regrets? What happens to him then?”

The man’s demeanor slips; he frowns momentarily. “Are you saying this man’s peace is disturbed by his contract?”

“He’d never achieve the rest of True Death,” you add. “I don’t think that’s the sort of thing you should be doing here.”

He gives you a long, speculative look. “Are you certain you are not one of us?”

There is a brief moment of disconnect from the present.

_“And in conclusion, you do not exist.”_

_The man standing across from you pales. “But if that’s right, I can’t be standing-”_

_He vanishes without further fanfare, and the spectators explode into applause._

“I...am a student of philosophy,” you reply shakily.

“I would not wish to debate you where the stakes were higher,” he says. “Fine. What is the man’s name?”

“Angyar.”

He produces a piece of paper. “Take this, then. Tear it up, do what you like with it. And if you are ever ready to learn more about True Death-”

“I’ll come back here.” You start to turn, but then pause, remembering your original mission. “Look, do you know anyone in here who knows anything about Blueblood?”

“King of Thieves?” he asks. “Talk to Emoric; he might be willing to offer you some help.” He points to a stocky pale, hairless human man sitting at a table by the far end of the bar.

The man doesn’t look up until you’re by his side, and then does with an even, unimpressed expression. “Ma’am?”

“Hi. My name is...Faust. I’ve been trying to track down someone, and I wanted to know if you could help.”

“I am not a town crier,” he replies. “I’m not in the mood to dispense information to every berk who wanders through my bar.”

You glance at his tabletop, and catch sight of Blueblood’s name, and an official-looking signature. “I’ve heard you’ve been having problems with him…”

The man glares at you, and then, with a glance down to his workspace, shuffles the papers together and away from you. “Well, that may be. But unless you’re offering to spy on him for me, I’m not seeing how you knowing that is relevant.”

“I could. What’s the problem?”

He gives you a long look before sighing. “He’s been providing us a steady stream of bodies. Most of the time, we don’t worry overmuch about that, but he has provided us with...quite a lot of bodies. I need someone to find out how and where before the Lady shows up asking who’s been committing mass murder.”

"And where would I find him?"

"Ragpicker's Square," the man replies. "It's somewhere beyond the northeast of the Hive. Come back when you have some useful information."

When you step back outside, it's to see a unicorn mare with an elegant purple mane slapping Pinkie. "And if I see you again, it'll be more than a slap you get!" she snaps.

Pinkie is grinning at the retreating mare as you approach. "What did you do?"

Pinkie shrugged. "Some ponies just can't take a joke."

"Well come on, we've got to find Blueblood."

"Ooh! I bet you got a lead in the bar! Did you get any sidequests?"

Pinkie's strange enthusiasm makes you smile. "Sort of. We're supposed to find out where Blueblood gets his bodies. I figured we'd take a look."

Pinkie lets out a dismissive grunt. It's unusually taciturn, so you take notice. "What is it?"

"This sounds like a big quest. We might need companions...anyway, what class are you?"

"Class?"

Pinkie rolls her eyes. "A lot of unicorns are magic users. But I haven't seen a spark out of you."

Magic...the word sends shivers down your spine, even though you've no idea how you'd go about magic. "You think anyone would teach me?"

Pinkie bounced up, grinning. "You could see my old teacher. I think she lives around here, but be warned: she's crazy."

You pause mid-step, seriously considering the statement. But the allure of power...true power...proves too much. “All right. I’ll bite.”

“Not on the first date, silly!”

“Anyway, where’s this teacher of yours?”

Pinkie shrugs. “Who knows? Witches are really mysterious - off to Mars, the Astral Plane, whatever, whenever they want. Lucky I’m a bard, right?”

You let that go for the sake of your sanity. But you do wonder if there’s a way to forcibly drain the knowledge you need out of Pinkie’s head. You let that thought go at the suspicion that thinking too hard about it might release a memory of having used such a spell on someone in the past. You’re beginning to seriously worry about what sort of person - well, pony - you were before you lost your memory.

“Well, if we can’t find her, I can’t learn magic. What’s next?”

“Pfft, can’t find her? What are you talking about?” Pinkie raps a hoof against a nearby door, causing it to swing open with an ominous creak to reveal a dimly-lit, smoky void. “Hilllda!”

“Is that you, Pinkie?” A blond woman with wild hair appears within the darkness, shrouded in dark cloth. She blinks at the pink pony before glancing at you.

Her eyes widen and she recoils. “Whoa! Pinkie, I told you: no zombies! Sure, they seem fun at first, but then they start shedding body parts into the punch at parties, forget what they’re doing when they enter a room, and it all goes downhill from there. I swore I’d never do that again, and wouldn’t let my students do it, either. Unless it seems like it’ll be really funny.”

Pinkie giggles, shaking her head. “Oh, she’s not a zombie. I think. Or she’s not my zombie. Plus she hasn’t tried to eat my brain or anything. Or am I thinking of those squid-thingies?”

“I’m not a zombie,” you say. “I think. Look, the point is, Pinkie said you can teach me magic.”

Hilda sniffs and grabs you, holding you at arms’ length. “Well, it’s a possibility. You’re a unicorn, which is a good start. But I’ve gotta see you’ve got the stuff. I’ve three mystical tasks to send you on. First, find a guy named Giscorl and pick up my laundry.”

“What.”

“Okie dokie lokie!” Pinkie grabs your tail in her mouth and bounces away, forcing you to follow rather than have your tail ripped off. Once out of earshot, you whirl on her.

“Can you explain why we’re following the insane ramblings of that woman?” you demand. “She’s asking us to do laundry!”

Pinkie shrugs. “If Hilda asked you to do something, she’s got a good reason for it. Or she thinks it’s funny. Or she forgot to do her laundry. Or she-”

“I get the point,” you growl back. “Let’s find this guy.”

“Ooh! Let me!” Pinkie bounces elastically on her hooves, grinning ear-to-ear. “I’ve got bonuses to my Bardic Knowledge in Canterlot. Plus, I know everybody!”

Given that you don’t even know yourself, this seems like it might be a marginally better idea than trying it on your own. Several hours later, during which Pinkie drags you through the two bars in the immediate vicinity, a marketplace, and back through the Mortuary (you have to talk to everyone, silly!, she explains), you finally find a wild-eyed man sitting before a clothes washer, obsessively scrubbing some grey cloth up and down.

“Um, hi?” He barely offers you a glance as he continues scrubbing. “Hilda sent us?” The man doesn’t give notice. “Hey? Hey!”

He still doesn’t respond. You grab the cloth away from him, but he still doesn’t notice, continuing to absent-mindedly scrub his hands.

You turn to Pinkie. “Can you do anything?”

She shrugs. “Already tried a Charisma check. He’s pretty out there.” But at a pleading glance from you, she crouches down, takes a deep breath, and you realize you should have covered your ears.

“HEY! WE’RE HERE FOR HILDA’S LAUNDRY!”

The man pauses, looking up at Pinkie. “I washed it and scrubbed it,” he says. “Wash and scrub every five days. Wash and scrub. Wash and scrub.”

“That’s nice, but we really need Hilda’s laundry.”

The man fixes you with a long stare. “I’ll go get it.” He slips into a small tent, returning a moment later with a stack of cloth that is heavy and stiff with repeated washing. “Now got to get back to work,” he mumbles, sitting back at the washer and returning to intense scrubbing.

You stare down at the board-stiff cloth, wondering if Hilda will mark you down for the condition of the cloth. But still, all she did was ask you to get it.

But you can’t help but look back at Giscorl, wondering what made him so weird, and what Hilda’s doing asking him for help.

Her house is easier to find this time, and she accepts the cloth without a comment about it. But she does wink at you and say, “Now I’ve got a thing I’d like you to get for me.” She produces a small, barbed seed, and hands it to you. “Can you see if anyone can get you the plant this seed grows from?”

Two hours later, you still have no idea. The herb sellers tell you to ask the fruit sellers, and the fruit sellers tell you to ask the flower sellers, and the flower sellers send you to the vegetable sellers, who suggest you talk to the herb sellers…

You slam into the Smouldering Corpse Bar an hour after that because learning magic isn’t teaching you anything except that you need a drink.

The inside is much the same as before. Your eyes drift across it, resting briefly on the pegasus who Pinkie had offended. Recalling Candrian’s words, you wonder why he called her lonely. She watches the bar with a distant impassiveness, no, disinterest. She doesn’t care about any creature in it. You don’t imagine those magenta eyes can reflect any emotion as mundane as affection.

A surge of something pushes you in her direction, a sense of empathy or deja vu, you’re not sure. No memory overwhelms you, but there is something familiar about the sharp-edged magenta glare you get as you approach.

“What the hay are you doing here?”


	4. Old Friends, New Friends

You struggle for words. You imagine that some forgotten memory contains someone who could weave an elegant response, but such eloquence is beyond you. “I just...thought you looked lonely.”

She lets out a bark of laughter. “Misery may love company, but I don’t. Look, unless you _know_ me, there’s nothing we have to talk about.”

“Isn’t that how people get to know each other?”

The pegasus rolls her eyes. “Jeez. I do not have time for this.”

“You don’t look busy.”

“That’s because you don’t _know_ what I’m doing.”

There it is again, the strange emphasis on the word ‘know’. You take a step closer, giving the pegasus a closer look. “What does that mean? To ‘know’?”

The pegasus sighs. “You might as well ask me what’s ‘cool’. Look, unless you’re born a pegasus, you’re not going to get it.”

“Try me.”

The pegasus starts at the iron in your voice. Her ears go back, fearful or uncertain. Then she sets her stance and stares evenly back at you.

“Fine.” She tugs a strange metal stone from some pack cleverly set against her side. With a few neat manipulations, she opens it into a simple ring, on which are written words. “This is the First Circle of Pansy. It’s...sort of a story.”

As you take ahold of the circle, you reply, “Is it a racial myth?”

In a moment, the pegasus is in your face, eyes narrow and fierce. “This isn’t a myth. This is the story of Pansy. It’s the story of our people! You want to _know_ anything about me, you need to read this.”

“Okay.” You take it, staring at the words inscribed on it.

" _Know_ that we are the First People.

"Once all was chaos. The First People looked within themselves to _know_ what was there, and they were chaos no longer.

"With their thoughts and _knowing_ of matter, the People shaped the First World and dwelled there.

"Yet flesh was new, and the People’s thoughts were consumed by strange passions. Greeds and hates, pains and joys, jealousies and doubts. All these fed on each other and the minds of the People were divided. In their division, the People were punished.

"The emotions were strong. The greed and hates, the pains and joys, the jealousies and doubts, all of these served as a guiding stone to enemies. In embracing these emotions, the First People became enslaved to those who _knew emotions_ only as tools for their will. _Know_ these beasts were the _changelings_.

"The _changelings_ were a race that had come not to _know_ themselves. They had learned how to make other races not _know_ themselves.

"They were the chitinous ones. They lived in emotions and saw emotions as tools for their will. Their blood was as water and they drank minds. When the _changelings_ came upon the People, the People were a people no more. The People became slaves.

"The _changelings_ took the People from the First World and brought them to the False Worlds. They chained their wings and the People labored upon the False Worlds. The _changelings_ taught them the Way of the Heart. Through them, the People came to _know_ loss. They came to _know_ suffering. They came to _know_ death, both of the body and the mind. They came to _know_ what it is to be the herd of another and have their thoughts drank like water. They came to _know_ the horror of being made to feel joy in such things.

"The Unbroken Circle is in the _knowing_ of how the People lost themselves. And how they came to _know_ themselves again."

“So?” You look up to meet the pegasus’ gaze almost before you can finish reading.

“What?”

“What does it mean?”

“I…” A flicker of thought dances through your mind. When you speak, it is as if someone else is using your tongue. “Strength lies in knowing oneself. I learned that once someone does not _know_ themselves, they are lost. They become a tool for others.”

The pegasus sighs, deflates, at your words. “Sounds about right.”

There is something exhilarating about the rush of discovery of the Unbroken Circle. “I want to learn more about the Unbroken Circle. Come with me; tell me more about it. Please?”

Something shudders through the pegasus’ form at your words. Her head drops to her chest. “...Fine.”

You wish she were more enthusiastic, but since she’s agreeing, you can’t quite feel disappointed. “Anyway, what’s your name?”

“Rainbow Dash,” she says softly, still staring at the floor.

“Well, Rainbow, I hope we’ll be friends.”

Rainbow snorts.

You decide to ignore the response. "Now come on, we've got things to do."

"Let me guess: off on an epic quest to get yourself killed?"

You pause mid-step. "No..." Liar! You promised Spike to bring an end to this. But something inside you quails at anyone who can so easily divine your intentions. The urge to lie, to run, to kill...

Stop it! You wonder if other people's heads are so full of arguments.

"I'm trying to restore my memory," you say. "Although at the moment, we're in a bit of a side-quest. Do you know who might be good with plants, and might be able to recognize this?" You hold up the seed. Rainbow snorts and grabs at your tail, tugging you along as she walks. Pinkie, although apparently engrossed in conversation with the bartender, glances up and trots after you as you leave the bar.

Once outside, Rainbow spits out your tail and takes a look around. "She should be lurking around here somewhere..."

"Who are we looking for? Is it another witch? Or some mystical artifact? Ooh! Are we looking for the Head of Vecneigh?"

Rainbow gives you a sharp, disbelieving look. "Please tell me she's not coming with us."

"Sorry."

Rainbow rolls her eyes. "Well, you want somebody who _knows_ trees. And there's only one pony around here who does - ah!"

She trots in the direction of an elderly green pony, not winged or horned, who is staring at a shriveled vine with a look of concentration on her wizened face. At your approach, she glances up, offering all three of you a wide smile.

"Why hello, young'ns. What brings you here?"

Rainbow nudges your shoulder with her own. "Uh, ma'am-"

"Ha! I'm not so old I need to be called ma'am. Call me Granny, or, Mourns-For-Trees, if you need that pretentious horseapples everypony around here likes. Now spit it out."

You look to Rainbow for help, but she seems to be fighting back a grin. You suspect she knew exactly what you were getting into here. An answering grin flickers on your face. It is a bit funny, you guess.

"My name...isn't important. But I'm trying to find the plant that would grow from this seed."

Granny takes the seed and stares at it, squinting her eyes, biting the seed, licking it...After a few long minutes, she spits to the side and shakes her head. "I ain't never heard of a plant like this. Although...mayhap there is something you can do."

"What is it?"

"Grow it yourself."

"I can't wait that long-"

"Hush, child. I know that. Look at these vines."

You take another look at the vines, which are as withered and dead as they were when you arrived. "They're dying."

"Aye. I've been trying to find people to care about the vines."

"Care for?"

The elderly pony smacks your nose. "I meant what I said. I said care about. I've been tending to these vines for years, but they're dying because there ain't nopony to care about them. Shoot, child, it's one of the rules of the planes. Wherever you are, that's the center of things." At your blank look, she sighs. "It matters what you care about, what you believe. I've been asking people to care about these plants, and nopony ever does." Granny seems to briefly shrink in stature before squaring her shoulders and standing straight up. "But nopony ever said anything worth doing was easy. But there you go. If you've got will enough, I reckon you could make that seed grow."

You want to go off immediately to try, but you're held in place by Granny's plight. You can't imagine someone standing here for years, trying and failing to get anyone else to care.

You turn to Pinkie. "Pinkie, do you think you could care about these vines?"

The pink pony giggles. "I care about everyone, silly! But I guess I can do a little more for these vines." She closes one eye grits her teeth, still grinning wildly as she does so.

You then glance at Rainbow. "Do you think you could care for the vines?"

"Why? What's your angle?"

"I don't-" You look helplessly at the withered vines. "She's been trying so hard to save them. It's sad no one else would help her. And she's already tried her best to help us without asking anything in return. You don't have to, Rainbow Dash." The pegasus' head swivels back to you, eyes wide. "I just...think it would be a nice thing to do."

She narrows her eyes as she glares at you, silent and still for a long moment. At last she sighs, turning back to the vines. "Fine, I'll try. But not because you asked me to." Rainbow closes her eyes. As she stands quietly, the coverings on her wings take on a green tint, and something of the same color seeps into the leaves of the vines. They still look weak, but more like they're a little dry than being on the edge of death.

"Wow, Rainbow Dash, you're good at that!"

You don't hear Rainbow's reaction, because you're taking your turn. You close your eyes and focus your mind on the vines before you, the growing things struggling against the press of the city. They deserve to grow and flourish and flower. You wish them only the best. You want them to-

"Whoa." Your eyes snap open. Rainbow is staring upward, something of awe and admiration in her face.

"Wooooooooow," Pinkie says.

You glance at Granny, who is staring upward with tears in her eyes. You follow hers and Rainbow's gaze to see...

Green vines edged with purple curl up the height of this wall, spreading and branching to cross to other walls. You can see flashes of green and purple throughout the neighborhood, where you had seen and ignored the withering vines before.

You take a hesitant step forward, only to feel a strange pressure on your left forehoof. You look down; a black vine covered in thorns is wrapped around your leg. The seed is nowhere to be seen.

"Thank you," Granny murmurs. "I never could imagine - but thank you."

"I don't..." You shift uneasily from foot to foot. "I just thought you deserved better."

Granny looks away, perhaps to hide further tears. "You've already done so much, and I ain't one to ask for charity-"

"I don't have much money myself."

Granny laughs. "Land sakes, child, I'm not that down on my luck. You seem the type to travel, and so I wanted to know...my granddaughter went off to join the Mercykillers ages ago and I haven't seen her since. I wondered...if you see her, could you tell her Granny would like to see her one last time?"

"What's her name?" Pinkie seems thrilled by your casual question, but Rainbow seems uneasy, still. You wonder what person so hurt Rainbow that the thought of doing something nice for someone is so unnerving to her.

"Applejack," Granny says. "And you'll know her by being the stubbornest, rashest, most bullheaded pony you'll ever meet. I don't know what I can do to repay you-"

"You've done more than enough, thank you. I hope you can keep on helping your plants. Come on, girls."

Hilda is waiting for you when you return to her home. She grins at the sight of the vines wrapped around your leg.

"I can see one or two problems with the vine you've got," she says.

You wave your hoof a few times, and the vine doesn't shift. "It's not like I planned for it to get wrapped up like this."

Hilda snorted. "Well, you made it grow. I don't see why you can't make it do whatever you want.”

You sigh at the non-answer, and focus on your hoof. In a moment, the plant twists away, falling from your flesh. Hilda grabs it, frowning. “Doesn’t look useful, though. Actually, now that I see it, I think it’d make a good picture frame. Would you mind?”

You sigh and close your eyes. In a moment, the thorns are in the shape of a frame, and Hilda gives you a bright smile.

“Great!”

“Now can we-”

“Anyway, I’ve got one last thing for you to do.”

“I swear, if it involves going back to that market-”

“I need some ink from fish in the marketplace. Talk to Kossah-Jai. Now, scoot!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The text of the Unbroken Circle of Pansy contains a great deal drawn directly from the Unbroken Circle of Zerthimon, which is copyrighted by Black Isle Studios.


	5. Getting the Hang of Things

“ _Know_ that the heart cannot mark steel. _Know_ that steel may mark the heart. In _knowing_ this, Pansy became free.

" _Know_ that the chitinous ones were of the heart. They relied on emotion and used the emanations of the heart for their will. One of the places where the heart served their will was the Field of Husks on the False Worlds of the _changelings_.

"The Fields were where the bodies of the People were cast after the _changelings_ had consumed all that dwelt within their hearts. When the hollow heart died, the husks came to be fertilizer to grow the poison-stemmed grasses of the _changelings_. The fear of this place drove the People to love their masters all the more fervently. Pansy worked the Fields with no _knowing_ of herself or what she had become. She lived in adoration of her masters, a tool of the heart, and the heart was content.

"It was upon these Fields that Pansy came to _know_ the scripture of steel. During one of the turnings, as Pansy tilled the Fields with her hands, she came across a husk untouched by the withering of those consumed by the _changelings_. It had not been used as food. Yet it was dead.

"The thought that one of the husks had died a death without serving as food for the _changelings_ was a thought Pansy had difficulty understanding. From that thought, came a desire to _know_ what had happened to the husk.

"Embedded in the chest of the husk was a steel blade. Pansy realized that was what had killed the husk. The steel had marked the heart, but the heart had not marked the steel.

"Pansy took the blade and studied its surface. In it, she saw her reflection. It was in the reflection of the steel that Pansy first _knew_ herself. Its edge was sharp, its will that of the bearer. It was the blade that would come to be raised against Hurricane when Pansy made the Pronouncement of Two Skies.

"Pansy kept the blade for many turnings, and many were the thoughts she had about it. She used it in the fields to aid her work. In using it, she thought about how it was not used.

"The _changelings_ were powerful. Pansy had believed there was nothing that they did not _know_. Yet the _changelings_ never carried tools of steel. They only manipulated the powers of the heart as tools. Everything was done through the heart, for the chitinous ones were drawn from the heart and they _knew_ the heart. Yet steel was superior to the heart. When the blade had killed the husk, it was the heart that had been weaker than the steel.

"It was then that Pansy came to _know_ that the heart yielded to steel. In _knowing_ that, she came to _know_ that steel was stronger than the _changelings_.

"Steel became the scripture of the people. _Know_ that steel is the scripture by which the People came to _know_ freedom.”

“Booooring!” Pinkie slumps her head against the table, mock-snoring. You roll your eyes and look back at Rainbow Dash, who offers Pinkie a vicious glare.

“You can’t ignore something new when you encounter it. You must seek to understand it, to _know_ how it can be of use to you.”

You feel an uncomfortable shift in your stomach as you give this explanation to Rainbow. She nods, however. “Yeah. If you don’t _know_ something-”

You slam a hoof against the table, sending Pinkie’s viscous green drink spilling over her. “That’s it!”

“What are you-?”

You tug Rainbow Dash after you, and Pinkie bounces after. The fishwife in the market had told you she didn’t stock any fish full of ink, and hadn’t even heard of it. As was becoming a pattern, you’d dragged the girls to the Smouldering Corpse for a drink rather than wallow in Hilda’s weird quests.

“Just because no one’s ever heard of it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. So there’s got to be someone around the market who can help us!”

You actually head to Kossah-Jai first. You toss her a few copper coins you’d gotten off of some moron who tried to mug the three of you. “Alright. You don’t have the thing I need. But there’s got to be someone I can see about it. It doesn’t need to be a fish-seller…”

“Hmm.” The woman taps her chin thoughtfully. “Meir’am trades in oddities. Mayhap she knows what you need.”

“Thank you!” You’re a little eager to get finished with all these errands, so you’re already trotting off by the time you shout the thanks. It doesn’t take long to find Meir’am.

“So we need ink from a fish.”

The woman raises a single eyebrow at you, and then glances down at your hooves. “Have a place to carry it?”

You feel a flush run through you, and you duck away, taking a moment to buy a battered goblet off a nearby trader, and returning. Meir’am gives you a wide smile. “It’s a strange ink you’ll get from this; the fish dies hard. Not unlike you, eh?” Her wink has something knowing in it, driving you away back to Hilda’s home quicker than you would have otherwise.

Hilda’s eyes widen in excitement at the sight of you; they flicker over Rainbow Dash without comment as she lets you inside. “Well, that’s the last of my errands. Now what was the meaning for all these trips?”

A rush of rage flows across your mind, at the effrontery of this hedge-witch demanding to know what you have learned. It is followed a moment later by the thought that she is still useful to you. A third thought, though, fights its way to prominence. Excitement at the thought of an intellectual challenge. You seize upon that thought, even as Pinkie demands Hilda just give you the experience you need.

“Obviously you wanted to see if I had the dedication to follow through in my education. Anyone can say they want to do magic, but it takes a special person to be willing to put in the effort. But the tests themselves have to have meant something, as well. Magic is a sort of ritual, isn’t it? But Giscorl went too far; obviously, he’s fixated on a single ritual to the exclusion of all else. Letting habit override all other impulses is dangerous. The seed...you sent me to understand that magic is a matter of belief - you can change things by the power of your will. You have to be careful what you wish for, though.”

“Oh?” Hilda looks surprised, and you’re not certain what you’ve said that interests her.

“I mean, if magic’s a matter of will, an ill wish can hurt someone before you think better of it. And even something good can be taken too far. I...went a little overboard trying to make the vine grow.” You can feel a blush on your cheeks, while Rainbow snickers behind you. “But the third lesson - you wanted me to understand that I can never assume I’ve learned everything. You can always find something new to learn. But that’s not it, is it?”

“What? No, I-”

“You wanted me to see how other people are important to my magic. Sometimes you need to see the mistakes others make to avoid making them yourself. Sometimes you need others’ help to accomplish your goals. And sometimes...you just need to admit that you don’t have the answers and reach out.”

You give Hilda what you hope is a proud grin. She is silent for a few moments before she nods. “Good enough. Can’t say I see where you got all that peace-and-harmony stuff, but good lessons to learn. There are some mages who could have learned those lessons earlier. Now, take a look at this paper, and tell me what you see.”

You look at a scrap of paper covered with indecipherable runes, at least until your mind shifts, as it has when you remembered shreds of memory from some more terrifying version of yourself.

_"What is this?" The young unicorn slaps the paper aside. "This is a worthless cantrip, little better than sleight-of-hand!"_

_You strike the unicorn, drawing blood across her pale blue coat. "Do not speak unless I give you leave!" Before you turn away from her, you see a flash of fury in her eyes. "But did you think I would teach you of consuming flame right away? You are a worthless creature, and until you are otherwise, I will impart nothing of value to you!"_

_"Of course, Master Yemeth," the other unicorn murmurs, loathing coating every syllable._

“It’s a spell. One to identify the nature of magic items.” You are uncertain, dizzy. _Yemeth_? Is that your name? It sounds like a name more fitting to the monsters that live in your head...

Hilda gives you a narrow-eyed look. “What are you?”

“What?” You stumble back, nearly running into Rainbow Dash. “I’m a pony-”

“An ex-pony, maybe,” Hilda says dryly. “But a kid who hasn’t learned magic couldn’t read this spell. Only someone who already knows magic…”

“I might have learned it before. I can’t recall.” You offer Hilda a helpless shrug.

“Well, I’d hoped I’d have a student to boss around for a couple of years, but it looks like you probably know anything I could teach you.” She shrugs in response and reaches down. She pulls out the frame of thorns and stretches her cloth over it, and then begins to sketch on it with the ink. “But I’ll give you a few spells for you to start things out.”

You look at the spells she hands you - a spell to move small things at a distance, a spell to create a shield about yourself, and something else…

“I can’t cast this,” you say, pointing at the spell to jump between space.

“Not yet,” Hilda says, “But it comes in handy.” She winks. “Now get out of here. Maybe I’ll be able to trick some other sod into hanging out with me.”

As you stumble outside, Rainbow stretches her wings. “Now what?”

“We’ve still got to find Blueblood,” you say. “They say he hangs out somewhere around here.”

“Not quite.” You shriek and spin in place, coming face-to-face with a tall human, face marred with a few scars. “But the door to his kip’s to be found here. But what are you looking for him for?”

You offer what you hope is a polite smile. “I left something with him. Do you know where he’s to be found?”

The man snorts. “Mayhap, but you’ll have to do a favor for me.” He raises one eyebrow at you; you resist a sigh, but Rainbow doesn’t.

“Very well.”

“I want to find where he gets his corpses,” the man says, and you almost snort.

“That I can do. So where do I find him?”

He throws a piece of rubbish at you; you catch it in your mouth, not relishing the foul taste. “Go toward the far end of the square, and a portal will open to him. But be on your guard. He’s a sharp character, and not likely to do you any favors.”

“Thanks.”

As you head off, Pinkie bounces along. “Wow! I didn’t think you’d be good at this adventuring thing, but you’ve got the real hang of it!”

“What do you mean? We’ve been wandering around doing favors for practically everyone who crosses our path!”

Pinkie giggles. “Silly, that’s what adventuring’s for! You think it’s all about killing monsters, don’t you? But it’s really finding out everything and doing favors and boom! Experience up the wazoo! Hmm. You don’t know what a wazoo is, do you?”

“You keep talking, and you’ll find out when I shove my wingblades up yours,” Rainbow growls.

“I keep meaning to ask about them,” you say. “They’re very...interesting.”

Rainbow grins at you, spreading her wings wide. “You mean awesome, don’t you? I can shape them with my mind, make them sharper, more magical, stuff like that. You see, pegasi grew up in the Plane of Limbo - you need to keep sharp to avoid running into a pocket of fire or an accidental mountain. So when you get good enough, they give you wing blades. Neat, huh? Now what about you? What’s with the tattoo on your butt?”

“You mean the stuff on my back?”

Rainbow rolls her eyes and prods your flank with her nose. “No, I mean the tattoo. Looks like a brand or something.”

“Hee, I thought it was cool,” Pinkie says. “Although now that you mention it, I’ve never seen a pony with a tattoo there.”

You try to twist your head to look at it, but it’s hard, straining your neck. Finally, you give up trying to see it. “Can you tell me what it looks like?”

What Pinkie draws in the dirt is some sort of hollow oval with pointed ends and a set of protrusions on the long side, like handles. The whole thing looks like a weapon, but also brings to mind a deep sense of...pain.

“I’ve never seen anything like that before,” you say.

“Welp! Then it’s another mystery!” Pinkie seems to take the idea in stride, but Rainbow keeps glancing at the symbol as you walk toward the portal to which the man had directed you. You think you’ll need to ask her about that later.

Your horn sparks with a sort of shiver that runs down your entire body. A moment later, a glimmering opening appears in the air. On the far side, you can just see mountains of rubbish…

“Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained,” you say, and step forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, the text of the Unbroken Circle is drawn almost word-for-word from the text of the Unbroken Circle of Zerthimon.


	6. Into the Depths

“Pansy labored many years for the _changeling_ Arlathii Twice-Remembered and its hive in the cavernous heavens of the False Worlds. Her duties would have broken the backs of many others, but Pansy labored on, suffering torment and exhaustion.

“It came to pass that the _changeling_ Arlathii Twice-Remembered ordered Pansy before it in its many-faceted galleria. It claimed that Pansy had committed slights of obstinance and cowardice against its hive. The claim had no weight of truth, for Arlathii only wished to _know_ if flames raged within Pansy’s heart. It wished to _know_ if Pansy’s heart was one of a slave or of a rebel.

“Pansy surrendered to the _changeling_ punishment rather than reveal her new-found strength. She _knew_ that were she to show the hatred in her heart, it would serve nothing, and it would harm others that felt as she. She chose to endure the punishment and was placed within the Pillars of Silence so she might suffer for a year.

“Lashed upon the Pillars, Pansy moved her mind to a place where pain could not reach, leaving her body behind. She lasted a year, and when she was brought before Arlathii Twice-Remembered, she gave gratitude for her punishment to the _changeling_ as was custom. In so doing, she proved herself a slave in the _changeling_ eyes while her heart remained free.

“By enduring and quenching the fires of her hatred, she allowed Arlathii Twice-Remembered to think her weak. When the time of the Rising came, Arlathii was the first of the _changelings_ to _know_ death by Pany’s hand.”

You had asked Rainbow to share more of the tale of Pansy as you walked the endless labyrinth of trash beneath the city that conceals Blueblood’s home. Now having heard it, you wonder on the meaning.

“When you choose to rely on the appearances of things, you fail to _know_ them. You can’t _know_ another’s heart by watching what they do, only by seeking to truly understand them.”

There is a long moment of silence, marked only by the rustle of trash beneath your feet, and a quiet sort of humming from Pinkie.

“Huh,” Rainbow says quietly.

“What? Am I wrong?” You feel a flutter of uncertainty in your heart, as if you have mis-remembered something you should know.

“I don’t...know,” Rainbow says. “You - I never thought about it that way. I always _knew_ the meaning of this tale to be that in enduring you can grow strong.”

“But Pansy was already strong. She suffered on the Pillars because she knew she had to help those who felt the same way as she did. She endured _because_ she was strong.”

Rainbow gives you a long, careful look. “You think because she suffered for her people-”

“Her friends,” you blurt.

“Her friends,” Rainbow allows, “she was strong?”

You shrug. “It could be. But at the same time - Arlathii believed her because it couldn’t imagine why she would allow herself to suffer. It couldn’t understand her, and that is why she later destroyed it.”

“Huh,” Rainbow says again. “That’s something to...think about.”

Pinkie suddenly pokes her head back around a corner. “Hey! I found something!”

What she’d found was a wide trap-door in the earth, surrounded by armed men, and headed by a unicorn, coat and eyes and mane all dull as mud. He smiles at the sight of you.

“And what brings you here, in the nest of the Collectors?”

You offer a smile. “We’re looking for Blueblood.”

The unicorn spits to the side. “And why should a deader be looking for the Prince of Collectors?”

You feel a shudder, knowledge that politeness won’t do here. A bubble of memory or personality floats to the surface as you shoot him a disdainful glare. “He sticks you out here in the maze of trash, and you think he values you enough to know the business of those who enter his court?”

Pinkie takes an uncertain step away at your words; Rainbow’s reaction is greater, as she jerks away, magenta eyes wide in shock or fear. The unicorn scowls, however.

“Aye, have it your way, cutter. Blueblood can put you in the Dead Book himself.”

He lifts the trap door with a flick of his horn, the spell you got from Hilda, sending you further down and into a village cobbled out of the trash surrounding you.

There is a large building, some strange mockery of a noble’s hall, at the far end of the village, but you feel tired and overwhelmed. You glance around hopefully, but nowhere seems a very welcoming place to sleep.

“Pinkie-”

“On it, boss!” Pinkie rattles off a quick salute and dashes off.

Rainbow gives you a sharp look, something sharp and almost accusing. It hurts, seeing her look like that, and you scramble for a way to make it better. “She likes running around talking to people,” you say. “She thinks this is...some big adventure.”

Rainbow snorts. “You’d be surprised what goes on in her head.”

“You have any experience with that?”

Rainbow tenses, poised as if to flee, at which point Pinkie reappears.

“Hey! I found a nice lady who says we can hang out with her!” she says. “Come on!”

The woman turns out to be a pale blue earth pony, head topped with a purple wave. She smiles at the sight of you, ushering you into a dingy, tiny room. There are bodies stacked on several of the tables, stinking of embalming. She turns and smiles at you.

“It’s not much, but I’ve enough to do here,” she says cheerily. “Oh, I’d prefer to cook, but needs must, down here. Come in. I’m Mrs. Cake.”

“And you’re a…”

Mrs. Cake laughs, throwing her head back. “I do a little of this and a little of that. Doctoring, sometimes. Mostly dressing up the deaders His Majesty sends up to the Dustmen.”

“And where do they come from?”

“Oh, that’s not for me to worry about; I’ve got enough things to do.” Mrs. Cake nods to the back, where a few low tables are topped with cushions. “But your friend mentioned some sleep, and you can do so out back. Although…” She looks you up and down. “I can do a little work on you, honey. Not a deader yet, but close enough I might be able to do something.”

“That’s very...kind,” you say. “But I think I’ll leave it alone.”

You sleep uneasily, but when you wake, it is to realize you have no memory of dreaming. Your mind feels oddly full, as well, which makes you half-remember hearing that dreams are meant to help clear out your mind or something. Just another thing that makes your life more difficult, you suppose.

“Well, I think it’s a good time to talk to Blueblood,” you say. “Come on.”

The hall settled at the far end of the village is festooned with gold-plated decorations, glass cut to shine like gems, and other attempts to pretend at nobility. And at the end of it is a male unicorn, tall and heavily-built, pure white in coat with a blond mane elegantly coiffed. It would be impressive were he not heavy with age, hooves chipped from wear and mane showing just the hints of thinning. It’s the very picture of a man struggling to retain some imagined glory.

But whispered words, somehow your own voice, warn you to tread carefully, so you bow low.

“Prince Blueblood. My name is...Faust, and I come before you asking a boon.”

“Ha! You come before me, asking a boon?” Blueblood has the voice of a cultured man, but his voice is laced with bitterness. “And what would you offer me in return?”

“I would be willing to bargain,” you say. “What do you desire?”

Pale blue eyes flash for a moment before the unicorn takes a nervous step to the side. “Ah, well, there’s one thing. Something none of my Collectors have managed to find. If you managed to find it, well, we might be able to work out a deal.”

“Come out with it!” Rainbow snaps.

Blueblood offers her a long stare before looking back at you, as if she’s not worth the time. “It’s a bronze globe about the size of your head.”

“Ooh! What does it do?”

“Young lady, you misunderstand the nature of employment. I provide directions, and you provide the service.”

“And you think we’re just going to lug some magic item around without knowing what it does?” Rainbow Dash demands. “You must think we’re the stupidest-”

“Quiet, Rainbow,” you say. Her mouth snaps shut, and she offers you a glare. “We will do as you ask, Prince, as long as you answer the questions I ask when I return.”

“With the orb,” Blueblood says. “Or I’ll owe you nothing.”

“Of course.”

“Then I will take you to the entrance of the catacombs where the orb must be. Come.”

Rainbow is silent all the way from the hall to the spiral stairs that lead down into dank, dark catacombs further beneath the city. But once you’re blocked in on all sides by stone, she pauses, fluttering her wings uncertainly.

“Pegasi aren’t meant to be underground,” she says.

“I never said you had to come with us, Rainbow,” you reply. “I’m...sorry I yelled at you, but I need him to answer my questions.” You pause, glancing at Pinkie, who seems enthralled with racks of skulls set along shelves down here. “Rainbow, I need to tell you something. Something happened to me, and I...can’t die. I woke up in the Mortuary, and they say I was dead before. Someone told me it’s happened before. And...Rainbow, I need to know why this happened. I need to know who I was before I woke up. I need to die, Rainbow.”

She holds your gaze throughout the speech, but something shifts in her expression as you finish. She looks...wistful?

“Well, you ask, and I’ll do my level best to kill you,” she says with a smirk. “Come on, let’s look for this mystical orb. I bet it’ll be loads better than waking up in that dumb old Mortuary.”

“I blame you,” she mutters, several hours later, when the ghouls lock the door of your tiny prison cell.

You want to rage at her, to take her down a peg, point out that if she weren’t claustrophobic, things might have ended differently.

No.

You don’t want to. Something inside of you (behind you) wants to. It’s the echoes of someone that’s not you anymore.

“To be fair, Blueblood didn’t think to tell us about the roving bands of undead down here,” you say. “He might deserve some of the blame.”

Rainbow snorts. “Or we could blame Miss Useless over there.”

“I’m sorry!” Pinkie blurts from her place huddled at the corner of the cell. “It’s just Dustmen aren’t supposed to hurt the dead. It’s a truce; I’m supposed to leave them alone, and they leave me alone.”

“That is exactly the point.”

You yelp, whirling on your hoof. A tall man...or, rather, the skeleton of a man, stands before you. He is dressed in strange, elaborate robes and carries a staff taller than him. “Dustman,” he says, “We have one missionary already and have no need of another.”

“Ooh,” Pinkie says, shrinking in on herself. “I’m not the missionary-ing type of Dustman. I’m more the partying kind.”

“The...partying kind?”

Pinkie pops up, bouncing to the tall skeleton. “Yes! Everyone’s going to die some day, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t enjoy every moment of it. Waiiiiiiiit, you’re a talking skeleton!”

“An observant Dustman,” the skeleton drawls. “My name is Hargrimm. I am the high priest of the Silent King, lord of our Dead Nations.”

You feel a shiver down your spine. “You mean everyone here is dead?”

“In a manner of speaking. Of course, you cannot be allowed to leave.”

“What?”

Hargrimm sighs. “Our nation exists in a delicate balance down here. We must hold the ghouls in check, to prevent them indulging their insatiable hunger. We must struggle against Many-As-One, who would seize our lands. We will not introduce more creatures into this balance. You will remain here until you die, and you may choose then whether to remain a member of this community.”

You don’t ask him what would happen to someone who can’t die. You imagine spending eternity here, watching Pinkie and Rainbow die, your own memory fading with every century.

“Is there any way we can leave?” you ask.

Hargrimm fixes his gaze, dark and unreadable, on you. He holds that for a long moment before shrugging. “If the Silent King allows it, you may go free.”

“Can we speak to the Silent King?”

“No.” You resist the urge to pull at your mane, instead offering the skeleton a mild smile. “But you may walk this place, as long as you keep the peace.”

You glance at Rainbow and Pinkie, who both nod. “Yeah, I guess we will.”

You don’t need to look at Pinkie to know what words she’s mouthing at you.

“Talk to everyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The text of the Unbroken Circle of Pansy contains a great deal drawn directly from the Unbroken Circle of Zerthimon, which is copyrighted by Black Isle Studios.


	7. Someone Wasted a Lot of Money on That

“ _Know_ that the Rising of the People against the _changelings_ was a thing built upon many decades of labor. Many of the People were gathered and taught in secret the ways of defeating their _changeling_ masters. They were taught to shield their minds and use them as weapons. They were taught the scripture of steel, and most importantly, they were given the _knowing_ of freedom.

“Some of the People learned the nature of freedom and took it into their hearts. The _knowing_ gave them strength. Others feared freedom and kept silent. But there were those that _knew_ freedom and _knew_ slavery, and it was their choice that the People remained chained. One of these was Vilquar.

“Vilquar saw no _freedom_ in the Rising, but opportunity. He saw that the _changelings_ had spawned across many of the False Worlds. Their Worlds numbered so many that their vision was turned only outwards, to all they did not already touch. Vilquar’s eye saw that much took place that the _changelings_ did not see. To the Rising, the _changelings_ were blinded.

“Vilquar came before his master, the _changeling_ Zhijitaris, with the _knowing_ of the Rising. Vilquar added to his chains and offered to be their eyes against the Rising. In exchange, Vilquar asked that he be rewarded for his service. The _changeling_ agreed to his contract.

“At the bonding of the contract, a dark time occurred. Many were betrayals Vilquar committed and many were the People that the _changelings_ destroyed to stem the Rising. It seemed that the Rising would die before it could occur, and the _changelings_ were pleased with Vilquar’s eye.

“It was near the end of this dark time when Pansy came to _know_ Vilquar’s treacheries. In _knowing_ Vilquar’s eye, Pansy forced the Rising to silence itself, so that Vilquar might think at last his treacheries had succeeded, and the Rising had fallen. He _knew_ that Vilquar’s eye was filled only with the reward he had been promised. He would see what he wished to see.

“With greed beating in his heart, Vilquar came upon the _changeling_ Zhijitaris and spoke to his master of his success. He said that the Rising had fallen, and the _changelings_ were safe to turn their eyes outwards once more. He praised their wisdom in using Vilquar’s eye, and he asked them for his reward.

“In his greed-blindness, Vilquar had forgotten the _knowing_ of why the People had sought freedom. He had lost the _knowing_ of what slavery meant. He had forgotten what his _changeling_ masters saw when they looked upon him. And so Vilquar’s betrayal of the People was ended with another betrayal. Vilquar came to _know_ that when Vilquar’s eye has nothing left to see, Vilquar’s eye is useless.

“The _changeling_ gave to Vilquar his reward, tearing apart his heart and consuming his emotions. Vilquar’s shell was cast upon the Fields of Husks so its blood might water the poison-stemmed grasses.”

“Well, that’s a puzzler,” Pinkie said. You’d convinced the three of them to sit down and worry about getting out of the Dead Nations later, which led to another lesson on Pansy.

You can see the shape of what Rainbow might have learned from this lesson, and you don’t like it. “You think this is about how focusing on one thing puts on...blinders.”

"Hm," Rainbow agrees. "But there's more than that. Vilquar's treachery helped ensure our victory; if he hadn't betrayed us, the changelings might have rooted out the whole rebellion."

“Okay, no. Whoever told you that is wrong,” you reply. There’s a flash of something - anger, disbelief, or fear - on Rainbow’s face. “Vilquar betrayed his people. There’s nothing good about that. He deserved what happened to him.”

Rainbow’s face flickers through something confusing. You want to know what’s going on there, but she stands up and stalks off to argue with a skeleton who’s apparently been testing his (her?) colleagues with dumb riddles.

You look at Pinkie for some hint of help. “What did I say?”

“Oh, jeez, I don’t know. Might just be the way she is. All moody and weird. Glad I’m not like that.”

“Yeah?” You resist a snicker. “Well, you have any idea how to get out of here?”

Pinkie taps her hoof thoughtfully against her chin. “Well, you can probably try to ingratiate yourself with Hargrimm. Or that ghoul chick-” You shudder at the thought of making nice with the dead woman who spent the entire conversation staring at your hindquarters like a flank steak. “Or Stale Mary. She was nice.”

There was, in fact, something kind and sad about the leader of the zombies. Of course, the fact that her tongue is mostly rotten would hamper a thorough conversation…

“Oh, what the heck. Let’s go.”

You decide to leave Rainbow alone for a while, and find the zombie queen (or duchess, maybe. You’re not sure on the hierarchy). She is holding court among her people, as well as anyone can hold court among people who can barely make themselves understood.

“Hrro.”

“Hi, Mary,” you say. “I...you seem like a really reasonable zombie. And we’re trying to do something really important I can’t do when stuck around here.”

“Sa shaame,” Mary replied. “But Slant Kaang say noo.”

“We don’t want to hurt anyone, Mary. You’ve got a great place going on down here. I thought maybe if I talked to the Silent King, I could explain I don’t want to make trouble for any of you.”

Stale Mary stares at you and Pinkie for several long moments. At last she says, “Cmaan,” waving you after her. Pinkie moves to follow, but Mary shakes her head. “Loone.”

Mary leads you through the twisting paths of the Dead Nations, until she at least reaches a small niche. A portal swims into view, and Mary urges you forward.

A throne room arcs over you. At its center is a huge throne, on which is seated a skeleton twice the size of an ordinary man. He is decked in gold armor and wears a spiked crown. He doesn’t move at your appearance.

“Um, sir?”

He doesn’t respond.

Mary takes your hoof and tugs you around, and when she has your attention, shakes her head.

“You...he won’t talk to me?”

“Not waant. Caant.”

“Can’t?” You step closer, peering at the skeleton. He doesn’t move, and it strikes you like the force of a slap. “He’s...dead.”

“Yes. The Silent King passed onto...True Death...some time ago. I was forced to maintain the facade to prevent Acaste from unleashing her ghouls upon us.” Hargrimm steps through the portal, staff held high, not threatening, but very much there. “I must ask you to hold your tongue with respect to this secret. A mere whisper of this would cause our nation to collapse in on itself.”

Your first thought is that you could use this to your advantage. Your second is reviled at such mercenary behavior. Your third points out that they’re likely to try to get you out of their hair - skulls - even if you agree not to tell. It’s a complicated series of thoughts, and you wonder vaguely if you’re losing your - ha - mind.

“I...it’s fine. I won’t tell anyone.”

Hargrimm nods. “You will not find the Silent King ungrateful. You have said you wish to go about your business. We will allow you free passage through our nations.”

“Oh. Well, thank you so much! I promise, we won’t make any trouble for you.” You dart forward and, before you can properly think, hug Hargrimm.

What follows is a hurried exit from the Dead Nation and into a spacious sewer full of knee-deep water. Rainbow Dash scowls at this.

“Well, this is lovely. You think we’re going to find Blueblood’s sphere down here?”

You open your mouth to respond, only to feel a strange tugging at your chest, a feeling of familiarity or loss…

“I think there’s something very important to-”

“Ooh! Experience points!”

You jerk your head around to catch sight of a large reptile lumbering through the water toward you, mouth open in a wide, threatening show of teeth. “Oh, my, god,” Rainbow says. “I hate this place.”

A series of interminable fights against huge lizards follows, trying the very limits of the few spells you’d bought off of a skeleton in the Dead Nations. After one vicious fight, Pinkie lets out a yelp and plunges out of view.

“Pinkie!”

Her head breaches the surface of the water a moment later, hooves treading rapidly. “Hey! It’s pretty deep over here!”

You take a few steps closer, poking cautiously at the ground until you find the drop-off. “Where does all this water come from?”

“Only one way to find out,” Rainbow replies, launching into the air. She lands awkwardly on a ledge some meters away, letting out a gleeful yelp. “Hey! There’s some sort of cup over here. It...wow. I think it’s empty, but it keeps dripping water out. You think it’s magic?”

“Ooh! Grab it!”

“That’s…great.” The sense of distraction that came when you entered the catacombs returns. “Hey, you mind waiting here for a minute? I’ve got something I want to check out.”

“What?” Rainbow is by your side a moment later. “You’re ditching us?”

“No, I’m going to be back. I just think...there’s something I need to see myself.” You lean in to give Rainbow a brief nuzzle, something that makes both of you freeze in shock. “I…”

“Yeah, you should go. We’ll wait here,” she stammers.

“Great.” You dart away, guided as much by your strange sense of recollection as by a desire to not be around Rainbow Dash right this instant. You don’t know what prompted you to nuzzle her. You don’t know whether it’s worse to think you have some genuine affection for this mare you barely know, or that a previous incarnation of yourself has some ulterior motive for pretending to be close to her.

Fighting your way through a few more lizards, you find a door set in a stone wall, carved with the strange symbol tattooed on your flank. You press a hoof against it, and the door swings open.

Inside, the floor is engraved with that same symbol embossed in silver. Tiles cover every surface, and a message is inscribed in the wall.

“At last I have you. Never again will you torment me, for no mortal can escape these walls.”

It takes only a moment to resolve to leave this alone, only to find the door locked behind you. You sigh, and stalk forward to a door set in the far side of the room. You see a room with a sarcophagus in it, floor marked with the same symbol.

Suddenly, you are standing in front of another sarcophagus, which proves empty except for a large key. You take it, feeling strangely apprehensive. The floor is marked with that strange symbol again; when you try to walk through the exit of that room, it shifts you back in front of the sarcophagus again.

Oh, great. You look at the symbol on the floor, and your mind, the part that first awoke looking at your first spell, twists in recognition. There is power there, something like a spell Rainbow knows, something that calls forth energy to strike a target…

A death trap.

‘No mortal can escape these walls...’

You step onto the symbol, and a jolt of lightning steals your consciousness.

In the momentary darkness, you feel a sense of deep loss, like something infinitely precious has been stolen. You wake with a scream, resting on the floor of the first room of the tomb. You rest there for a few uncertain moments, trying to piece everything together. So the symbol on the floor is deadly, and teleports you to the original room. You scramble to your feet and notice for the first time the rotten and decomposed corpses resting around the original room.

You look back to the one exit to the room, and then down at the key. It looks like an ordinary key, but at the same time, it can be…

You walk through the exit, and are shifted to another room, with a symbol on the floor and a sarcophagus. There’s a key in there.

A few more repetitions of the deathtrap brings you at last to the chamber visible from the original room. The walls are covered with writing. The first is…

“Fear names. Names have power. Others can use names as weapons. Names can be used to trace you across the planes. Remain nameless, and you shall be safe.”

Another wall reads, “You have been divided. You bear many names, each has left their scars on your flesh.

“Lost One.

“Immortal One.

“Incarnation’s End.

“Mare of a Thousand Deaths.

“The One Doomed to Life.

“Restless One.

“One of Many.

“The One Whom Life Holds Prisoner.

“The Bringer of Shadows.” You pause at that inscription, which brings you pause, something like the memories that haunt you.

You move on. “The Wounded One.

“Misery-Bringer.

“Yemeth.

“I grow weary.”

The words strike you with the weight of Spike’s misery, the haunted look in Rainbow’s eyes. You jerk your head aside to another wall, one covered in wild, erratic writing. “With every death I lose a part of me. How can one be immortal and still die?

“I asked him how my mind can weaken with every death, but he was no use. I butchered him so that no one would ever benefit from his uselessness.” You shiver at the words. You have tasted the shape of the mind that wrote those words, and you hate knowing enough to understand her.

The next wall reads, “My killer has destroyed me a thousand times, despite my every effort. Deception, false bodies, flight to the most distant planes, and this tomb, full of traps.

“All I bought was time. She always knows that I live, and no matter where I hide, she finds me eventually.”

Well, it’s nice to know who to thank for the deathtraps, you think bitterly, as you turn to the next wall.

“I suspect that we will continue to die and be reborn until we finally get our life _right_. I don’t know what we have to do to bring that about, though, and therein lies the frustration.

“Is it some sort of karmic cycle? I have found evidence of terrible transgressions I have committed, but so too have I found lifetimes spent doing only good. Is this some kind of punishment? _I don’t know_. And that is the only truth I can offer.

“And worse, when can I free myself from the shackles of my past incarnations’ actions? When am I allowed to be _me_ , without the weight of these past lives?”

You wonder who wrote this tirade, who was so desperate to live alone, to be untouched by the consequences of others’ choices. Something about the words seems selfish, though. Of course you feel horrible knowing what a previous incarnation did to Spike’s mind, but…

It’s you. There’s no ‘we’; it’s all you, separated by time and distance.

You whirl away to the next wall. “It is extremely important to record your journeys so that you might learn from them. The greater need, however, is that the sources of information you use to uncover this mystery need to be protected when they are found. If key figures, documents, or oracles are somehow removed, then you will never know who or what you are or how you came to be this way.”

It explains the journal, you think, as well as the deathtrap tomb, but also makes you feel heavy. You turn to another wall, and are shocked to find the words carved into your back. “I know you feel lost, but you need to CENTER yourself. Your effects should include a journal which will fill you in. Blueblood should have the rest, if he isn't in the Dead Book already. Don't lose that journal or we'll be back to the start again. And don't tell anyone WHO you are or WHAT happens to you, or they'll find a way to make this stick. And don't forget, FIND the journal and FIND Blueblood. Don’t trust the pink pony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tales of Pansy are drawn heavily, largely verbatim, from the Unbroken Circle of Zerthimon, copyright Black Isle Studios.


	8. Maybe You Should Have Just Asked for a Toaster

You find Pinkie and Rainbow about where you left them. They aren’t looking at each other; you aren’t certain if they’ve had a fight or just don’t mesh. You force a smile on your face before you reach them.

“Hey, girls!”

Pinkie turns, grinning widely at the sight of you. “Hi!”

Rainbow’s expression is much less clear. You think she must be happy to see you, but she seems troubled. Unfortunately, you have bigger things to worry about right now.

“You have the look of someone who found plot-relevant information!” Pinkie says in a sing-song voice.

“Yeah, something like this. Hey, Pinkie, can you read what’s on my back again?”

“S-sure!” Pinkie dutifully repeats the words on your back. “Still doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“Maybe if you keep reading,” you suggest.

Pinkie giggles. “Keep reading?”

“I mean the part warning me not to trust the pink pony,” you say, voice as icy as you can manage it. Rainbow’s body tenses, and Pinkie’s hair deflates as she stops bouncing. “Pinkie?”

“Well, I thought that was obviously ridiculous. Who’d tell you not to trust me? I decided you didn’t need to worry about it.”

She sounds earnest, you think. You want to think she’s earnest. But she lied to you. You look to Rainbow, who is trying to look at anything but the two of you. “Pinkie...this is important. You have to know, Pinkie, what this quest is about. I’m trying to _die_ , Pinkie. I’m trying to reach True Death, something I haven’t managed in countless lifetimes. Something’s gone wrong, and there are...people trying to stop me. I have to know I can trust you, Pinkie. I have to know you’re serious about helping me.”

Her eye twitches. “I...of _course_ you can trust me, silly! I don’t want to hurt you ever, ever! Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.” There’s an echo to her words that makes your bones hum.

You sigh. Every instinct you have rages at the thought of placing trust in someone you know has lied to you. Every instinct screams at the thought of placing trust in anyone. Every word carved into the walls of the tomb speak of a mare who has hidden herself from every other creature, paranoid at the secret enemy that hunts her immortal life.

“...Alright, Pinkie.”

She looks up, eyes shockingly wide and blue as she meets your gaze. “What do you mean?”

“I mean don’t worry about it. I trust you.”

“I…” Pinkie shoots a panicked look at Rainbow, who offers a shrug. Pinkie looks back at you, swallowing nervously. “And that’s it?”

“I just want to know you won’t lie to me again. That’s all.”

“Oh, okay,” Pinkie says. “That makes sense. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good.” You smile at both of them, ignoring the narrow-eyed focus from Rainbow Dash and Pinkie’s quivering lip. This is not the time to delve too deeply into their feelings, given that you’re surrounded by murderous reptiles and looking for some sort of...Maguffin, you think it’d be called. “Now come on.”

As you delve deeper into the catacombs, you find the corpses of earlier adventurers, other patsies sent down by Blueblood to get his sphere. You find ghouls desperately fighting against those reptiles. When you find one gnawing on a dead reptile, you realize they’re hunting for provisions instead of protecting the Dead Nations.

It’s by sheer luck that Rainbow finds the sphere. Or, rather, you think, it’s because she’s taken well to finding and looting corpses. She shouts, raising it to catch your attention, but by the time you get to her side, she’s dropped it back into the water.

“What did you do that for?” you demand.

Rainbow glares down at the ripples in the water. “Something about that thing gives me the willies.”

You fish it out of the water, and nearly recoil yourself. It looks like bronze, but feels like a vaguely overripe egg, smells like rotten custard, and gives you the feeling of something monstrous just waiting to hatch. You know holding it that the sphere contains something terrible. You don’t want to know what Blueblood wants with it, you just want to get out of here.

But you pause before you demand the group go, and put a hoof on Rainbow’s shoulder. “Thanks. I don’t think I could have found this without you.”

Rainbow pauses mid-step, and the expression she gives you is, while less gob-smacked than you’ve grown used to seeing from her, loose and unfocused. “I...you needed it, right?”

“Well, yeah. But thanks.” You trot away, leaving your companions behind you. You ignore the hurried whispers of the two as you return to the doors of the Dead Nations, and back out to the mostly empty catacombs.

“Hold,” a voice whispers in the darkness. You pause, looking back and forth. “Immortal, listen to me.” You find the source of the voice, a stone carving of a face, just to your left.

“How...do you know I’m an immortal?”

The stone face twists into a smile. “You walk beside those...whose spirits burn with the same...dark fire as you, but something in you is...missing. Something that...prevents you from dying.”

“O...kay.” You look down at your flank, trying to see something that suggests the conclusion the stone face made. “But you wanted to say something to me?”

“Danger lurks...here, above and below. The greatest danger is...yourself, and a winding road will...take you. You will find what you...seek, but may find it is not...what you want.”

“And how do you know that?”

“You have walked...this path before. Its scars mark your...spirit. And your choices echo...though the...Planes. I see this, and speak it.”

You take a breath. You know your incarnations have affected your present form. You know your choices are informed by who you want to become. But you don’t know how to be the person who will do that.

“Everyone I’ve been has failed,” you say. “How can I be the one who succeeds?”

The stone face laughs, a sound like stone slabs grinding against one another. “It is your nature not...to die. Your goal is to...change that. So you must ask...what can change the nature of a mare?”

The words carry an echo, like Pinkie’s vow, shaking your bones. At the same time, you can hear other voices chorused with it. Your footing shifts, and you nearly fall. You would have, except that Rainbow Dash is next to you, supporting your weight.

“How...did you get down here?”

The stone face sighs. “Long ago...I was a great...man above, named Glyve. But...the ways of men are...treacherous, and my family...and I were deposed. Our rivals bound our bodies...and spirits to these...catacombs, where the...filth of Canterlot must flow. Always would our...mouths and eyes and...noses would run with filth, until...fresh water would pass our lips.”

“Fresh - hey!” Pinkie bounces into your vision. “We found a thing that was dripping water into the catacombs.” She upturns the cup over her mouth, licking her lips when the water falls in. “Yep, that’s pretty fresh.”

“If you...grant us the boon of...freedom, I will tell you...how to unlock the...power of this decanter. Always will...you have...water.”

You shake your head. “You don’t need to give us anything.”

“Given...freely, for you who seek...to change. There is a woman...named Nemelle, who should know...the word to command this item.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, and pour water over Glyve’s lips. You need this to work, you need this to help Glyve and all his family. You need them to be free.

There is an explosion from the decanter, filling the catacombs with fresh mist. It lasts for only a moment, but as it fades, a chorus of sighs fill your ears.

At the same time, Rainbow and Pinkie are watching you with wide eyes. This weird silent staring thing is starting to get on your nerves.

“What?” you demand. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

They exchange a glance before Pinkie responds. “Not a lot of people act like you. Being all perky and happy and helpful isn’t what most people do. I mean, I do, but that’s because I love seeing people have a good time. You’re just...a really nice person.”

You want to laugh, to explain how your selfless actions are a struggle against dark, manipulative impulses. You want to reveal that there’s a darkness, an emptiness that encourages ruthless indifference or vicious hatred, in you. But you’re selfish. You don’t want them to see that side of you.

“Well let’s see what Blueblood thinks this thing is worth,” you say, tossing the sphere up and down.

When you’re back in Blueblood’s court, he stares fixedly at the sphere as you produce it.

“And what will you give me for it?” you ask.

“Many things,” Blueblood replies. “Ask, and I will consider the cost.”

“Tell me what you know of me,” you say.

He takes a step back, glancing back and forth to the corners of his court. “Not much. You called yourself Faust, but I’ve seen you use many names. You came to me years ago and demanded an audience of me.”

As he speaks, the world around you shifts, and you can see it as if you’d lived it.

_Blood stains your hooves, and smoke fills the air, as you rise from bended knee before the Prince of the Court of Ill Wind. There is fury in his eyes, but chained, wisely, by the power you can bring to bear against him._

_“Who are you?” he demands. “Why have you come here? Why have you killed my kin?”_

_“I have come here to beg a boon from you, Prince.”_

_“A boon? I’ll sue for peace, if you demand, but a boon-”_

_“There’s something you want, Blueblood. Something you think will save your broken soul.”_

_“Shut up!” It is like his eyes burn in fury as he straightens, dashing to the edge of his throne. “What do you want?”_

_“Your people see the dead who gather in Canterlot. When they find mine, Blueblood, keep it safe. Watch out for it.”_

_Blueblood smirks. “Not many ask for boons after they’re dead.”_

_“Not many people need what you seek, Blueblood,” you reply. “Make a vow, Blueblood, and I’ll tell you the ways of the thing you need.”_

The world returns to you in a sharp shock, and you realize Blueblood is staring at you.

You shake your head. “Sorry. I sort of…”

“Is that all you wanted?” Blueblood asks solicitously, and you can feel his gaze on the sphere.

“No. What did you take off my body, Blueblood?”

He snorts. “Do I look like the type who goes scrounging through deaders’ pockets? My Collectors found you.”

You growl. “Well, do you know who ‘Collected’ me?”

“Oh, yes. My wife.” He offers a grim smile to you.

“And what did she take off my body?”

Blueblood raises a hoof to his chest, giving you a wide-eyed look, a mockery of shock. “You accuse my beloved Rarity of taking what belongs to you? Such a vicious tongue on you.”

“So she didn’t?”

Blueblood shrugs. “Oh, who knows what wives do in their own time?”

You snort, glancing around at the false opulence of Blueblood’s throne room. “You’re a businessman, Blueblood. I don’t think you’d let anyone take something without getting a cut.”

Blueblood sidesteps, whinnying nervously. “Well, you couldn’t expect me to remember everything I pick up.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words stick in your throat. You could threaten him with the retribution of the Dustmen; it doesn’t take a genius to realize Blueblood is raiding the catacombs for bodies to give to them. But you’ve lived whole lives manipulating and threatening people. You don’t want to be like that. If Blueblood won’t tell you…

You swallow and nod. “Fine. I’ll leave you be. Come on, Rainbow, Pinkie. We’ve got to go.”

You leave the hall behind you, but as you leave, a shout makes you pause.

A white female unicorn hurries toward you. She looks somewhat familiar; you think it might be the purple mane she wears, but Pinkie’s eyes go wide at the sight of her.

The mare pauses a few feet away, looking intently at her feet.

“Good evening,” she says. “My name is Rarity.”

“The Princess of Trash?” Rainbow asks.

Rarity’s right eye twitches. “I did marry Blueblood some time ago, yes. Look...you. Lady, I’m going about this all wrong. What is your name?”

“Uh.”

“I’m Pinkie Pie! And this is Rainbow Dash. And this is…”

“Me,” you say. “Look, it’s complicated, but I don’t remember it.”

Rarity gives you a sidelong look, something skeptical. “Well, I can hardly call you ‘hey, you’ all the time. Do you have something I could call you?”

“For the moment...Faust, I guess. But what do you want?”

Rarity’s gaze is once again absorbed by her hooves. “I heard you talking to Blueblood. You don’t need to let him dismiss you, Faust. There are ways to force his hoof-”

“It’s alright. I’ve found out a lot about myself already. If Blueblood won’t fork my stuff over, I won’t force him to do it.”

Rarity’s eyes, azure and framed with delicate lashes, widened and moistened with tears. “That’s so noble of you. Look, I’m sorry for dragging you into the Mortuary without properly checking to make sure you were dead. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, just ask. _Please_ ,” she adds, before you can protest. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself otherwise.”

Pinkie is nodding enthusiastically behind Rarity’s head, so you take a deep breath. “Can you show me where you found my body?”


	9. Chains

“Pansy was the first to _know_ the way of freedom. Yet it was not She that first came to _know_ the way of rebellion.

“The _knowing_ of rebellion came to the warrior-queen Hurricane, one of the People. She had served the _changelings_ upon many of the False Worlds as a soldier, and she had come to _know_ war and carried it in her heart. She had come to _know_ how others might be organized to subjugate others. She _knew_ the paths of power, and she _knew_ the art of taking from the conquerors the weapons by which they could be defeated. Her mind was focused, and both her will and her blade were as one.

“The year in which Pansy came to _know_ Hurricane, Pansy ceased to _know_ herself. Hurricane's words were as fires lit in the hearts of all who heard her. In hearing her words, Pansy wished to _know_ war. She _knew_ not what afflicted her, but she _knew_ she wished to join her blade to Hurricane. She wished to give her hate expression and share her pain with the _changelings_.

“Hurricane was one of the People, but her _knowing_ of herself was greater than any Pansy had ever encountered. She _knew_ the ways of heart, she _knew_ the _changelings_ and in _knowing_ herself, she was to _know_ how to defeat them in battle. The strength of her _knowing_ was so great, that all those that walked her path came to _know_ themselves.

“Hurricane was but one. Her strength was such that it caused others to _know_ their strength. And Pansy laid her steel at her feet.”

“Well...that’s lovely,” Rarity said, sipping genially at her wine. “I don’t generally delve too deeply into philosophy, though. It’s a bit beyond me.”

Rainbow raises an eyebrow at you, putting you on the spot in this impromptu “getting to know you” meeting.

You sigh. “Pansy couldn’t do this herself. She might have discovered the Scripture of Steel, but it wasn’t anything until she could draw other people to join her. No one can change the world on their own.”

“That’s not it,” Rainbow mutters. “That’s not what it’s supposed to be.” She looks up from the table at you, eyes watering with frustration or pain. “How do you sit here and tell me that’s not what it means? One person can draw others to her, and use that to change the world!”

You snort. “Leading the revolution doesn’t make you the only person who matters. I wouldn’t have found that sphere without you, Rainbow. Whoever told you that one person is all that matters is...selfish.”

“She’s right, Rainbow,” Rarity drawls, resting a hoof on yours as she leans over toward the Pegasus. “Even Blueblood, who is not a paragon of generosity, understands that his success relies on the cooperation of dozens of other people. Is this really what your people teach you?”

Rainbow shudders, shaking her head as she stares at the scarred surface of the table. You reach out a hoof, pausing when you see moisture dropping onto the table. “Rainbow, are you...crying?”

She shoves herself away from the table and storms off without a word. The door to the bar slams as she leaves. You look up at Rarity, feeling as lost as you’ve been since you first woke up in the Mortuary.

“Rarity?”

She pats your hoof gently and stands. “I’ll go see if I can talk to her,” she says. “You mingle.”

You shakily stand and wander over to the burning corpse. The unicorn doesn’t seem to be in pain, or noticing much of anything, actually.

“You looking at Trixie?” a wheedling voice asks. You turn to a chubby, pale blue unicorn. He offers you a wide grin.

“Is that who this is?”

“Oh, yes,” another voice joins in. “This is the Great and Powerful Trixie.”

“Oh, yeah!” the chubby stallion chimes in. A skinny yellow unicorn joins him next to you. “Trixie’s the best.”

“She was an amazing sorcerer,” the skinny one says. “Hi. I’m Snails.”

“I’m Snips,” the chubby one says.

“And you know Trixie?”

“Not really,” Snails replies. “But we’ve heard tons about her! A bunch of wizards got together because they were jealous of her.”

“Yeah! They decided to get rid of her the only way they could. They opened a gate between her and the Plane of Fire, hoping to kill her.”

“But the Great and Powerful Trixie was too great and powerful to die that way.” Snails waves at the smoldering corpse.

You take an uncertain step closer, peering at Trixie for sign of consciousness. “I heard she was alive, but…”

“Oh, she’s in incredible pain,” Snips says. “But she’s still alive.”

“You know,” Snails adds, “I’ve heard that if you could open a gateway to the Plane of Water, it might be able to snap her out of it.”

“She’d be pretty grateful to anyone who did,” Snips says. “Willing to give up all sorts of favors and arcane secrets and whatnot.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Snails adds.

“Well, that’s...great,” you say. “But…” You’re almost certain there’s more to this story, and you suspect you’re being conned into something. But rather than antagonize the fans of the burning corpse, you try a surreptitious glance around for an escape. You feel a rush of relief at seeing Rarity and Rainbow Dash slip back into the bar. “I see my friends. I’ll get back to you!”

You hurry over to Rainbow and Rarity. Rarity gives you a minute shake of her head, so you slow as you approach. “Hey! You ready to go?”

“Without Pinkie?” Rainbow asked.

You roll your eyes. “Watch. We’re off to continue our adventure.”

“Hey, girls!” Pinkie appears without preamble, grinning widely. “We ready to go?”

“Yeah, we’re going to track down the site of your grisly murder,” Rainbow said. “Come on.”

As you leave the bar, you catch sight of a store with a sign reading ‘Tattoos’ over the door.

“Hey, can we check this out?”

“Oh, no,” Rarity replies. “We are not going in there.”

“What? Why?”

“Do you know who runs that shop?” Rarity edges close, eyes wide and possibly artfully panicked.

You shake your head. “I barely know who I am-”

“Zecora!” Rarity snaps.

“And that is…”

“She’s a zebra who’s abandoned the Lady!” Rarity shakes you by your shoulders, nearly frothing at the mouth in her excitement. “The Lady, Faust!”

You shoot a questioning glance at Pinkie, who rolls her eyes.

“I’m not sure-”

Rarity lets go of you and steps away, raising a hoof dramatically to her forehead. “All of the zebras follow the Lady. They don’t speak to anyone, and they work to keep the city running. And Zecora - the purveyor of this shop - talks, and doesn’t serve the Lady...if we get involved in them, we’ll be sent to the Moon, or worse!”

“Worse?”

“We-ll, her full title’s the Sun Princess,” Pinkie says. “So if she doesn’t want to send you to the Moon, she _can_ incinerate you with the white-hot fire of the sun’s corona.”

You glance back up at the store’s sign. “Look, you can stay out here if you want, but I think I need to talk to this zebra.”

Rarity’s gaze darts around nervously. “In this neighborhood?”

There’s a moment as your brain tries to engage this. “Don’t you live in the heart of a criminal empire surrounded by mazes of trash?”

“Yes, my subjects,” Rarity retorts, “as opposed to these...ruffians.”

“Then come in with us,” you say. “Look, I’m practically immortal, I’ll keep the Lady from hurting you.”

Rarity’s eyes flutter rapidly in shock. “Protect moi?”

“Yeah. Now come on.”

A bell jingles as you step into the shop, and a zebra looks up from a small table as you enter.

“Welcome, my guests to my humble store. Please, share what you have come here for.”

Pinkie giggles. “Hey, you rhymed!”

The zebra smiles mildly. “This way was the way I had been taught, so before I speak I give them some thought.”

“That’s really interesting,” you say, “but I’ve got something I wanted to ask you about.”

“Well, share with me your request, and I will offer to do my best.”

“Good.” You turn to the zebra, highlighting the strange tattoo on your flank. “Have you seen this symbol before? Do you know what it means?”

Her eyes narrow as she stares at the tattoo. “You wish to know what this piece of lore meant; I recognize this as the symbol of Torment. There is a terrible curse on those who bear it, for it draws to them those who share it.”

The words have a strange echoing quality. “The scars you bear are both old and fresh, but cut deeper than merely your flesh. But I have seen you traveling with companions four, all marked with the torment that has plagued you before.

“A dragon whose love was unrequited, and a blind archer as skilled as any sighted. A soul who had from hell been saved, and one who had been eternally enslaved.”

You can imagine the sight, you trailed by Spike, begging for your attention, a blind man carrying a longbow, and-

“Rainbow Dash?”

She freezes at your words. “What?”

“You knew me when you saw me in the bar, Rainbow. Where do you know me from?”

Rainbow shrugs, affecting a casual attitude. “The zebra said she’s seen you around. Why couldn’t I?”

“Rainbow, you know me. How?”

She grits her jaw at the question, shaking her head. "I don't-"

" _Tell me_ ," you command, and Rainbow stiffens, ears falling flat along her head.

“Not here. Not...come on.”

You offer the others a quiet look, and though she still looks uncomfortable, Rarity nods. You trail Rainbow as she leaves the shop, leaving the others behind with Zecora. Rainbow drags you to the Smoldering Corpse, to a table at the back, and slams down a bottle of something that reeks of alcoholic fumes.

“So. Talk,” she says.

“I’ve met the dragon, Spike. You’re not blind, Rainbow. Who were you?”

She sighs, letting her head droop. “You helped me, and when I offered something in response, it…became slavery.”

“What-”

_The Plane of Limbo is a chaotic whirl of matter, earth and ice colliding between pockets of air and flame. Movement is all but impossible, and dizzying. Every breath is maddening, a struggle of air that burns and freezes, but you fight to look down at the mare before you._

_The wings mark her as one of the Pegasi, those who wield the Wing Blades, said to bear the strength of the bearer’s mind. Powerful enough to kill an immortal…?_

_She rests within a coffin of earth, magenta eyes deadened and unfocused, and her rainbow hair split and frayed. Her coat is dull, and the blades on her wings melted and steaming, the color of something hideous._

_“Rainbow Dash, last to bear the wing-blades of the Pegasi, Child of Cloudsdale, rise. I bring you the words of Pansy, written in stone to dispel the chaos.”_

_At the word ‘Pansy’, the pegasus jerks and twitches. Her eyes drift to your face, and down to the stone circle in your hooves._

_“These are the words of Pansy,” you repeat. “They are true, and if you take them. If you read them, your mind will be divided no longer. You will_ know _yourself again.”_

_She stares, and you wonder, vaguely, if she’s too far gone to care. But then her hoof grips it, and life flares back into her eyes._

_“I saved your life, Rainbow,” you intone. “_ Know _that.”_

_A cocky smile flickers onto her lips, and she struggles weakly to her hooves. “Then you’ve got a friend for life. I’ll follow you until you die.”_

“You promised to serve me until death,” you whisper. “But I can’t-”

“I _know_ that!” Rainbow snaps. “I made a promise that chained me until eternity. My people spent generations fighting for freedom, and I threw that all away.” She snaps her mouth shut, glaring at you with tear-filled eyes. You’re torn between the urge to comfort her and to leave her be.

“Rainbow, you don’t have to-”

“I _gave my word_! That’s all I have, now. I no longer _knew_ the words of Pansy. I was lost, divided against _myself_! I would have given anything to _know_ those words again, and now…”

“What did I even give you?” you ask Rainbow. “Stories about your Pansy? Teaching you that treachery is a good thing? That can’t be what Pansy’s story means. That can’t be worth your freedom.”

“It has to be,” Rainbow says softly. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The text of Pansy is drawn heavily from the text of the Unbroken Circle of Zerthimon


	10. Expecting, or, Pregnant with Meaning

“Upon the Blasted Plains, Pansy told Hurricane there cannot be two skies. In the wake of her words came war.

“So it came to pass that the People had achieved victory over their _changeling_ masters. They _knew_ freedom. Yet before the fires had died from the battlefield, Hurricane spoke of continuing the war. Many, still filled with the bloodlust in their hearts, agreed with her. She spoke of not merely defeating the _changelings_ , but destroying all _changelings_ across the Planes. After the _changelings_ had been exterminated, they would bring war to all other races they encountered.

“In Hurricane’s heart, fires raged. She lived in war, and in war, she _knew_ herself. All that her eyes saw, she wanted to conquer.

“Pansy spoke the beginning of that which was against Hurricane’s will. She spoke that the People already _knew_ freedom. Now they should _know_ themselves again and mend the damage that had been done to the People. Behind her words were many other hearts of the People who were weary of the war against the _changelings_.

“ _Know_ that Hurricane’s heart was not Pansy’s heart on this matter. She said that the war would continue. The _changelings_ would be destroyed. Their flesh would be no more. Then the People would claim the False Worlds as their own. Hurricane told Pansy that they would be under the same sky in this matter. The words were like bared steel.

“From Pansy came the Pronouncement of Two Skies. In the wake of her words came war.”

You nod. You can see it now, what your prior incarnation wanted Rainbow to believe. That treachery was necessary. That Vilquar’s treachery allowed for Pansy’s betrayal of the people. That when you betrayed her, it would be right.

“Tell me what you think it means, Rainbow,” you say quietly.

She stares at the table, still unwilling to make eye contact with you. “She loved her people enough to save them from themselves, to prevent them from becoming like the changelings.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

Rainbow doesn’t respond.

“Rainbow?”

“Pansy submitted to her master before the rebellion. She allowed the changelings to continue to exist. I wonder…”

“No. Rainbow, what would you be like if Pansy had listened to Hurricane and continued the crusade? Would you be loyal? Would you be kind? Could you ever be friends with a unicorn like Rarity, or an earth pony like Pinkie?”

Rainbow stares at you, blinking through her tears, and you press your luck and reach across to embrace her. “Rainbow, you can’t trust what I told you about this. I don’t know if these words are true. But even if they aren’t, I think you can find meaning in them. You can use them to make you a better person.”

Silently, Rainbow Dash begins to shake against you. “Rainbow?” She shakes her head, burying her face into your shoulder. You let her cry silently, until at last she pulls away. Her eyes are bruised and red-rimmed, and she looks uncertain.

“You...aren’t the mare who saved my life in Limbo,” she says. You shake your head; Rainbow isn't inside your head, guided by the instincts of that selfish monster, separated from her only by the flow of time. "I _know_ you less than I did her, but as long as I’m bound to follow you...I would like to come to _know_ you. I’d like to learn what you _know_.”

Your first instinct is a flare of gratitude that Rainbow is staying. The second is confusion. You are aware of perhaps a tenth of what you put Rainbow through, enough torture that she shouldn't forgive you, no matter how you might be acting today.

You settle on a gentle smile, or something like it. “I’d like that.”

As you leave the bar, you pause to look at Trixie, apparently insensate as her body smolders. You wonder if you had anything to do with this; Zecora accused you of drawing tormented souls to you, and you can't imagine being a channel to the Plane of Fire to be anything but torment.

In the end, you leave Trixie where she is, leading Rainbow from the bar to find Rarity and Pinkie still in Zecora's tattoo parlor. Rarity is chatting animatedly with Zecora about decorative tattoos, apparently having abandoned her fear of engaging the rogue zebra.

"Of course it's a ghastly mark, but it's an interesting idea. For equinoids, it seems an intriguing place to put a tattoo - oh! Faust!"

"You know that's not my name," you chide.

Rarity shrugs. "I need to call you something, and 'The Pony Without a Name' is a bit of a mouthful. Now, are we ready?"

"We're looking for a deserted alley, aren't we? How hard can that be?" Rainbow flutters her wings, making her look a little larger.

"Well, normally. But the way to get there is...complicated." Rarity frowns thoughtfully. "It's overrun with Chaosmen."

Pinkie's eyes light up as she bounces forward. "Ooh! Do they have paintbrushes? I love it when they go all rainbowy!"

Rarity shoots her a scornful glare. "The Chaosmen are hardly anything to joke about." She glances sidelong at you and twists her mouth oddly. "When they paint the town red, it is both distressingly literal _and_ unfortunately figurative. They simply have no manners or fashion sense." She sounds disdainful, but you can't be certain if she's more distressed at the Chaosmen's attitude or use of color palettes.

Pinkie snorts. "You just don't know how to deal with them. Lead the way, and I'll show you how to do it."

Just outside Zecora's is a dilapidated wooden house, covered in splashes of paint apparently applied at random, and, as Rarity said, without regard to any coherent color scheme. At the center of the facade is a beautifully painted door, carved from a seasoned dark wood with red and blue highlights. You reach out to open the door and your hoof hits flat wood.

Pinkie giggles. "This is where the Chaosmen live. It's not that easy to get in."

"Well," Rarity allows. "It's easy, but there is a trick. Sort of a portal, although I'm certain the Lady wouldn't approve. Try closing your eyes, dear."

You do as instructed, and this time, when you reach out, you hoof hits an ornate metal doorknob. You twist it and pull the door open, and, not trusting the door to remain open if you open your eyes, step blindly into the building beyond.

The room within is dim and run-down, something hard to tell through the layers of paint splattered across the walls, ranging from ancient stains to still-wet splotches. Howls, cries and stranger sounds echo through the building. You glance at Rarity, who looks down toward Pinkie.

Pinkie grins and raises her hoof to her lips. "We gotta be super sneaky for a bit," she whispers. "Come on."

You follow her as she creeps out of the sole normal door from the room, staying low and trying to mimic her careful steps. She pauses outside an open wood door, smeared with red-brown paint...you hope.

Then, with startling speed, she launches herself into the open doorway and throws a pie into the room. There is a muffled shout, and then staggered, gasping laughter.

"Let's go, girls!"

You sprint after Pinkie as she darts through the room and into a maze of cramped rooms and empty hallways. Pinkie's strategy is strangely effective. You're not certain what her magic is, but it seems highly useful against the Chaosmen, either magic that leaves them laughing until they wheeze, stare vacantly at nothing, or find themselves otherwise distracted as you all sprint through the building.

At last, Pinkie, after disabling a roomful of Chaosmen with a cannon that explodes with glitter and streamers, kicks open a door that leads to a wide plaza paved in even cobblestones. You pause as you step outside, finding the light cleaner, somehow, and a sensation you can't name crawling down your spine.

You focus on the sensation, trying to identify it. The air has a scent that brings to mind spring, something full of potential. "Rarity, where are we?"

"Oh, some alley," she says. "It's supposed to be the way to get to the Lower Ward, but it's a bit stopped up."

You feel a shift in the air, like the weight of knowing someone is standing near you in a room. "Hello?"

There is no immediate answer; as the silence stretches on, you feel a knot of worry in your stomach, that perhaps this has been an elaborate lure for your unknown enemy to trap you. Why would Rarity have been so generous with her time if there was no ulterior motive?

Then a face appears in a nearby wall. Its appearance is sudden enough to make you jump away.

"Greetings. Have you recovered from your wounds?"

You stare at the face for a moment before recalling the carvings deep under the city. "Are you cursed, too?"

"No. I am the Alley of Lingering Sighs."

"You mean you _are_ the alley?"

"I am the sum of its parts, the heart and soul of it, as there must be for other streets, and the city itself."

"And my wounds - you saw me die here?"

"If you died here, then I saw it. If you died beyond my sight, it was not observed."

The voice has a grating, like stone, but the breathy sound of a sigh as it speaks. 

"Can you tell me what you _did_ see happen to me?"

"You entered this place, traveling from the Lower Ward. The shadows deepened, and then the shadows themselves rose up. Their touch seemed to steal the life from you, lashes that had no substance. I saw you fall, and not rise again."

The wall's words cause a shift in your perception, not awakening a memory, but a feeling of recognition. The shadows are dangerous, an invisible enemy that strikes from the darkness, and hope that you can find that enemy hiding in darkness-

"Is that all you saw?"

"No eyes I saw, but only the shadows seeking you, above all else. None have I seen them pursue within my bounds. But for what I have offered, I beg a favor for you."

You nod without thinking. "What can I do?"

"I am burgeoning, and ready to divide, but the Lady's servant resists my efforts. You must remove it."

"What?"

Pinkie sidles to your side. "I think the alley might be ready to have a baby."

You're beginning to suspect the planes are much stranger than you'd ever imagined. "And the Lady's servant - a zebra - is keeping you from, um, giving birth?"

"He repairs instead of allowing me to split," the alley divides. "Please, remove him."

"Okay, I'll see what I can do."

You walk away from the stone face, pausing when you're sure it's out of sight. "Does it really want us to kill a zebra?"

"It may be the only way," Rarity replies. "I don't know any other way to the Lower Ward."

"But couldn't we talk to him or something? It seems a little...cold to just kill him."

You ignore the sharp glance Rainbow and Pinkie exchange. You're beginning to suspect the pink pony has her own history with you, but now is not the time.

Rarity, however, merely shrugs. "I've not heard anyone having much luck telling zebras what to do, but...it might work."

You step away from the group and trot further down the alley until you find a zebra, a sturdy male, repairing a small fence.

"Um, hello?"

The zebra pauses in his work and looks back on you. His expression is placid, but there is a sense of nervous energy, and a shadow of impatience in his expression.

"I was looking around at this street, and wondered if you could stop repairing it?"

The zebra's left eyebrow raises slightly, and he turns back to his work.

"Wait!" He doesn't stop his hammering, but you press on, shouting over the noise. "Haven't you noticed a lot of...tension on the structures here? I think the street is trying to divide."

This nets you another pause in the work, as the zebra pauses to glare at you, a concentrated dark stare.

"I know it sounds a little strange, but if you help undo your repairs here and wait a while, you'll see." The zebra moves as if to turn away again, but you grab his shoulder, eliciting an almost inaudible gasp. "Look, if I'm right, your repairs are doing more harm than good. The street is dividing because the city needs more space. The repairs are keeping that from happening."

The zebra turns to examine his handiwork, a careful inspection that lasts a few tense moments. At last, he shrugs, and turns to rip off the patches already attached to the wall. When finished, he hands you a crowbar, silently enlisting you to help make the way for the new street.

A moment after you finish, there is a rumbling shift in the cobbles beneath your feet, and then...you don't really have words to describe the process of a street expanding and splitting under its own power, except as like watching construction in fast-forward without workers, with the added oddity of something organic happening.

When the shifting ends, you take a few steps gingerly, but begin moving faster when the ground proves stable. There is a street branching off from the alley, curving along in the direction of a number of low buildings away from the house you came from and the rest of the Hive. A sign labels it 'Vieux Avenue'.

Pinkie and the others appear around the corner; Rarity's expression smooths at the sight of the zebra. "I can see you succeeded."

"Thanks to you," you address to the zebra. "I don't even know your name, though."

He shrugs and points to his stripes. He then gives you a gentle smile and makes an expansive gesture that you can't even begin to decipher. "Um..."

"Chill, he's just thanking you. Says he wants to make sure the others aren't making unnecessary repairs, too." Rainbow shoots you a bright smile that disorients you for a moment. "That's pretty cool. You think you can ask the Lady for favors?"

"I seriously doubt that," Rarity drawls. "Are we done here?"

She takes a few steps toward the new street, giving it a suspicious look.

Pinkie, however, trots eagerly to the street's entrance. "Awww, it's so cute. And it's a boy! You must be very proud."

"Come on, Pinkie, we've got places to be." You nudge the pink pony away from the street sign and down into the Lower Ward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tale of Pansy is drawn largely from the text of the Unbroken Circle of Zerthimon, copyright Black Isle Studios


	11. The Heart of the Matter

The Lower Ward is largely unremarkable, and Rainbow is advocating for finding somewhere to rest, so she drives you forward into the Clerk's Ward.

"I heard about a great place around here," she explains as she walks. "Run by a sweet little - oh."

She stops underneath a sign that reads, 'The Brothel of Spiritual Comfort.'

"What sort of place was this supposed to be?" Rarity asks archly.

Rainbow's cheeks flush at the question and she turns on Rarity, eyes narrowed. "I didn't know it was that sort of place!"

"Well maybe we can get rooms anyway," you suggest. "Besides, there's something weird about that name..."

You step inside to find a worn, comfortable entry hall adorned with tapestries and colorful rugs. As you cross the threshold, a small rabbit darts between your hooves.

"Oh, watch out for Angel Bunny!" A pale yellow pegasus appears; her wings flutter as she swoops toward the rabbit, a sign of nerves or a desire to fly, you can't tell. A long pink mane shades her face until she stands up straight and you can meet her gaze. Her eyes are a strange, dull red, something that makes your skin crawl, even though the rest of her, delicate frame and graceful steps, is the appearance of a beautiful mare.

The appearance...

Rarity steps forward. "Good evening. We have been wandering the city for some time, and wished to know if you could offer any accommodations."

"Well, we don't normally do that," the pegasus-shaped creature says uneasily. "This is usually where people come if they need comfort."

Rainbow, perhaps now because you relieved her of responsibility for choosing to enter the brothel, sniggers.

Pinkie goes for a more direct approach. "Are you a whore?"

The yellow pegasus gives Pinkie a gentle smile as she shakes her head. "Oh, no. Or...yes. Not _that_ sort of whore, anyway. The Brothel of Spiritual Comfort isn't somewhere for, um, carnal gratification. Sometimes people are lonely and need someone to talk to, or listen, or even just hold them. It's to give them a place where they can feel comfortable."

"So you give out hugs? That's not exactly what people look for at a brothel."

The yellow pegasus shrugs. "You'd be surprised. But I'm more the listening sort. It's, um, a bad idea for me to touch people."

Rainbow, who edged closer while the other pegasus talked, pauses, tilting her head, as if considering pressing her.

"Why is that?" you ask.

"I'm a succubus," the pegasus replies. Rainbow Dash recoils, skidding into the wall next to the entrance. The others around you are more subtle, but take small, significant steps away from the yellow...demon. "But forgive me, I'm being rude. My name is Fluttershy."

You direct the round of introductions, pausing when you reach yourself. "And I...can't remember who I am." A hot, angry voice in your mind protests, calling to mind the flashes of the women you've been before. "I'm trying to find that out, and...also how to die."

Fluttershy's eyes widen, deepening from red to a dark purple as she slides closer to you. You scoot back, but still end up with her far too close for comfort. She leans in, almost, but not quite enough to touch, and makes a motion as if offering you a comforting nuzzle. A strangled squeak escapes your throat; Fluttershy yelps and moves away so fast you wonder if she teleported. 

"I'm sorry! I was just so sad for you I forgot I shouldn't touch you. It's not pleasant, wanting to die. Maybe...you should find someone to help, instead."

In the end, you explain it all, the amnesia, the promises, the mystery of your immortality. Fluttershy sits through the explanation thoughtfully before giving a sharp nod. "I don't understand all of that, but...I suck the life out of everything I touch. I could try-"

You shake your head, the tale of your death at the hands of hungry shadows still fresh in your mind. If they couldn't kill you, you doubt a succubus could.

"Hmmm," she murmurs. "I might know someone you can ask. He knows all about life and death, and might be able to say why you can't die. Of course, he's...busy, so you might need to help him before he'll help you. I'd help you if I didn't use my last favor last week." She gives you a wan smile.

"It's alright. What's his name?"

"Star-Swirl. He lives in the Lower Ward, but don't worry, you can stay here. I'll have Luna make up rooms for you."

Luna, a young unicorn with a dark blue coat, bordering on purple, brings you to a series of cozy rooms where you spend an uneasy, dreamless night.

The next morning, you follow Fluttershy's directions to Star-Swirl's home, a basement lab set under a tiny shack, a place whose primary decor is skulls. Rack after rack holds dozens of skulls. You recognize human skulls, pony skulls, and others you can't begin to identify.

"I see you admiring my collection." A unicorn, mane and coat dark purple, almost black, slides out of the shadows between two racks. A cloak covered in stars covers his body, hiding all but his head. He watches you with sharp green eyes framed by his mane and a greying beard.

"Star-Swirl?" you ask.

He chortles. "Most likely. This is my lab and my robes, and around us sits my collection. Who are you?"

You open your mouth, your false name on your lips, but pause. As much as his lab worries you, you need his help to discover the secret of your immortality.

"I don't know," you admit. "I awoke with no memory, and have found that I revive endlessly from death. Each death robs me of my memory, and I want to know what makes me this way."

Star-Swirl throws back his head and laughs. "Oh, that's a tale worth telling. Yes, I know it, but you must do something for me." As you start to nod, Star-Swirl says, "Bring me a skull of great value."

"Excuse me, do you expect us to find some poor unsuspecting soul and behead it just on your say-so?"

"I expect you to do it because otherwise you won't get any answers." Star-Swirl's smile is sharp-edged.

A few possibilities leap to mind, but the thought of following through with any of them makes you feel queasy. Removing someone else's head, even if you do try to secure the skull of a skeleton long-dead...

"What about my skull?"

"No!" Rainbow snapped.

"That does seem an inelegant plan."

Star-Swirl shakes his head. "I'm not certain I see the value."

"Look," you say, "I can't die. If you help me find a way to die, you can take my skull and there's an immortal's skull for your collection."

Star-Swirl stares at you, mouth working as he thinks. You try to avoid fidgeting, but his attention is unnerving.

At long last his grin turns predatory. "Hm, a passable idea, but a tricky one to enforce."

You take a deep breath and a steady stance, and speak, voice echoing in your own mind as you do so. "I will my skull to you upon my Final Death."

Star-Swirl is smiling when you finish. "Well! Now that that's in order, let's settle my end of the bargain. Hey!" He raps a hoof against one of the racks, causing one of the skulls to rattle and shake. Eye sockets gleam with silver light.

"Yeah?"

"Tell me about Nightmare Moon."

"I hate that story."

Star-Swirl knocks the rack again. "Do it."

The skull sighs, a feat for something without lungs. "Fine. So, I was a Sensate-"

"Sensate?"

"They believe a person becomes perfected when he has experienced everything it's possible to," the skull replies. "They seek out new experiences for the sake of having experienced them. It's a perspective that loses its appeal once you spend a couple centuries as a disembodied skull, sadly."

"Get on with it!"

"Anyway, I was in the Festhall where Nightmare Moon was solving riddles. She's a frightful creature - an alicorn, a sort of demon with powerful magic. She likes prying apart mysteries, so she was solving puzzles even the Sensates couldn't figure. So me, I think maybe I can pick up a few tricks from her, so go up to her. She tells me she'll teach me if I answer the one riddle she's never solved, and I agree. Then she asks me-"

"What can change the nature of a mare?" You mouth the words as the skull speaks them, feeling again the sensation of words echoing through your soul.

"Yeah, so I tell her, 'love,' and she just gives me this look. 'Too many will put on the face of change for the sake of love, but love themselves too much to ever change.' Long story short, now I'm a decapitated skull on a wizard's desk."

"And what does this have to do with me?"

Star-Swirl's smile gets nasty again. "It has everything to do with you. I can see it on you, as could any truly masterful necromancer. You lack mortality."

"I know that!"

"No, you don't. There are many ways to immortality, but none of them are absolute. The undead may be destroyed, the unaging killed, gods forgotten or slain by their rivals. For all of these creatures possess a shred of mortality, a means for them to pass into True Death. So, impossible as it is…"

"What?" you snap. This close to an answer, your nerves are short, the instincts of more vicious mares rising to the surface.

"Your mortality has been stripped from you, and it has Nightmare Moon's hoofprints all over it." At your confused look, he snickers. "For whatever reason, she stole it from you, and, well, as I said, your mortality is the means to allow you passage into True Death. Without it, you are a restless, deathless spirit. Immortal."

"So where do I find her to get it back?"

"Where? I doubt you can. The Lady sent her to the moon ages ago. No, you're stuck like this for good, I'm afraid."


	12. Story Time

You return to the brothel shortly after, in a foul mood. Several of the women try to talk to you as you enter, but you growl at all of them, even Luna, who’d left flowers beside each bed as a late-night snack.

You throw yourself onto the bed and sulk for a time. You promised to find a way out of this, and the person responsible has been out of commission for ages. You wonder if someone else - but you doubt it. 

There’s a knock on the door after about an hour.

“Go away,” you growl.

The door swings open to admit Rainbow Dash. She looks worried, and kicks at the ground anxiously. “I don’t know if I should,” she says. “Maybe I’m supposed to do what you tell me, but maybe I’m just supposed to look out for you. Which one do you think it is?”

“Where’s that circle I gave you?”

Rainbow pauses before grabbing at a small saddlebag and pulling out a 12-inch circle of stone, trotting into the room and kicking the door closed behind her.

“What’s the rest of the story?”

Rainbow shakes her head. “There isn’t any. There’s just the part about-”

“No. There has to be more.” You struggle to your feet. “Pansy divided her people rather than continue to war against other races. That can’t be the end. There’s a lesson in those words, and so there has to be more.” Your voice is shaking. “Those words taught you to know yourself.”

“And you turned it upside-down with your philosophizing!” Rainbow snaps. “I thought I _knew_ what those words meant, and now...I don’t.” She sits down hard next to your bed. “I thought it meant that Pansy was...central to the uprising, that through endurance and a clear understanding, you can change the world. And now you say…”

It hurts to see her so uncertain, although there’s a certain satisfaction that this is not coupled with frustration that an uncertain pegasus is not useful to you. You briefly entertain a moment of musing on that before you realize Rainbow Dash is crying.

“Hey, stop it.” You slip down onto the floor with her and wrap your hooves around her shoulders. “I never told you...Pansy’s story isn’t about one pegasus. It’s about acting for a greater good, for those other than yourself. It’s about the difference between her and Hurricane, between her and Vilquar. She learned the Scripture of Steel and turned it to serve every creature in the planes, to shatter the changeling empire. The story never mentions any race other than the pegasi, but do you think they did it alone?”

The words ring in the tiny room, which is shockingly silent once they slip out.

“And what about you?” Rainbow asks, her voice soft and hoarse. “You tried to do it alone for...how many lives?”

“And they all failed. I’m still here, Rainbow. Give me the disc.”

Hooves shaky, Rainbow does so. You stare at the stone, and find hidden catches. You slide it open, and find the words of the first story of Pansy. Another catch shows the second, the third, until you find the last story Rainbow told. But it’s not the end, you know. It takes a moment of hunting before you find...a seventh circle, a seventh story.

“ _Know_ that the Rising of the People against the _changelings_ was a thing built upon many years. Many were the People who lived and died under time’s blade while the Rising was shaped.

“The Rising was shaped upon a slow foundation. Steel was gathered so that it might mark _changeling_ hearts. A means of _knowing_ the movements of the _changelings_ was established, at first weak and confused, then stronger, like a foal finding its balance. When the movements were _known_ , then the _changelings_ were observed. In observing them, their ways of the mind were _known_.

“When the ways of the _changelings_ were _known_ , many of the People were gathered and taught in secret the means to shield their minds and hearts, and the way to harness their will as weapons. They were taught the scripture of steel, and most importantly, they were given the _knowing_ of freedom.

“These things were not learned quickly. The _knowing_ of much of the ways was slow, and in all these things, time’s weight fell upon all. From the _knowing_ of one’s reflection in a steel blade, to the _knowing_ of submerging the will, to the _knowing_ of seeing itself. All of these things and more the People built upon. In time, they came to _know_ the whole.”

Rainbow sits entranced at your reciting the words of the circle, the trap you set to snare her to your service forever, so that the blade, that might kill immortals, would be yours. And yet, even though you know the words are a trap, you want to know what they mean.

“How many lives have you had?” Her voice slices through your thoughts, startling you from your musing.

“Hm? Who knows? A thousand? More?”

Rainbow’s smile is wide, almost smug. There isn’t even a twinge of fury at it; you wonder what’s happening to the flashes of memory from the vicious, practical incarnation of yourself. “A thousand lives. One wasn’t enough to find the answer. Maybe a thousand is enough. You’re not in a race against time; you’re the culmination of a thousand lifetimes of work. A thousand lifetimes, and now you’ve got...friends to help you.”

“Are you one of those, Rainbow?”

Rainbow Dash doesn’t answer for a long time. As the silence stretches on, your stomach knots up, a twist of tension and worry. A fading voice in your mind insists you don’t need Rainbow, and a whisper demands you kill her before she knows enough to hurt you.

“Rainbow?”

“I don’t know,” she mutters. “I want to hate you. I want to be your friend. I don’t _know_ what I want!” And isn’t that a nightmare for Rainbow, you think.

“I get it,” you respond. It hurts, but you understand her. “So, where are the others?”

“They’re talking with some of the - with some of Fluttershy’s students. Pinkie Pie found one who likes telling stories. I think she’s talking her ear off.”

The door suddenly slams open to reveal a mass of pink and grey. “You gotta come hear this!” Pinkie shouts. She grabs your hoof and drags you out of the room, babbling something about a woman who was trying to hear every story to answer the meaning of life or something.

At last, you are downstairs in a room lined with bookshelves. A slender humanoid woman, pale-skinned and blonde stands within; she looks up at you as you approach. “Is this your friend, Pinkie?”

“Yeah! This is Yves,” she adds to you. “Can you tell her the story you told me?”

The student tilts her head, tapping a finger on her chin. “I prefer to trade a tale for a tale.”

So you tell her the tale of awakening in the Mortuary, and of discovering Pinkie Pie.

She nods, at last. “This is the tale of Nightmare Moon, which is defined by the question, ‘what can change the nature of a mare?’ Any time anyone approached her, she posed this riddle to them, both to those who wished to benefit from her powers, or wished to learn the strange magics she possessed. There is no tale of anyone who answered the question correctly, but plenty of the fate of those who answered poorly.”

“We met one,” you reply.

Yves chuckles, an unkind sound. “I believe that Nightmare Moon does not know the answer to this riddle, and wants nothing more than to find it. But why does the nature of mortals matter to an alicorn, one of the immortal sisters of the Grey Wastes?”

“Maybe-”

Yves cuts you off with a finger to your lips. “I’m not done. They say she posed this question to the Lady, shouting it to Canterlot itself. And when she received no answer, she sought to unmake the city itself, to tear it apart. Her fate is well-known, killed or banished to a place beyond discovering.”

“Is there a way to find her?”

Yves shrugs. “A portal to a place the Lady has forsaken is an impossible thing, so would be made only by those who would seek to make the impossible. And even then...there would be finding the key to such a portal.”

“Then let me tell you a tale,” you say, “of a mare who came to the alicorn Nightmare Moon and walked away with the greatest torment imaginable: a life unending but lost of any meaning. Nightmare Moon stripped the mare of her mortality and cast her out into the planes to wander, devoid of memory and struggling to _know_ what happened to her. And she set shadows to hunt the mare, to steal what remained of her life and her mind.”

Yves stares at you for a long time. “You have come to know many things. The Sensates might find use of your experiences. I have told them many tales. And there might be secrets there for you.”

“Thank you. Although, would you know where our fourth member is?”

“Speaking to one of the others, I presume.”

You find Rarity chatting with Fluttershy. The white pony is standing quite close to the succubus, shifting quite naturally around her, but clearly cautious of her touch.

“We’re ready to go. Yves suggested we go to see the Sensates.”

“Oh!” Fluttershy straightens, earning a subtle dodge from Rarity. “I could help put in a good word for you. I...shared some experiences with them.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I’m not certain…” You trail off when you see the look in Fluttershy’s eyes, something sad and watery that makes your heart break. “Well, the more the merrier, I guess. Come on.”

The Sensates make their home in a massive, arched building called the Civic Festhall. A tall man with metallic skin stands at the entrance. “Greetings,” he says somberly. “We are Splinter, guide to the Civic Festhall. We will direct visitors, and are responsible for inducting new members.”

The words bring to mind a debate, the sight of dozens of glimmering orbs, and a room, empty save for a cot and large cabinet…

“I think...I might be a member.”

“You think? Your words ring of truth, but you must prove it. You must bring the experiences you have gathered in traveling the planes.”

You offer a grin. “I woke on a slab, a surface of cold, damp stone, the air clammy and full of the scent of embalming fluid, sharp and acrid. It failed to cover the scent of blood and gore, the rotting smell of corpses lying open on their own slabs. I could see the bodies of creatures of every race, bloodied and flayed, their skin pulled back and bodies opened for no apparent purpose. The air was still and stale, filled with the intermittent groans of the dead, and the shuffling of their feet against rough stone.”

Splinter seems to be staring at nothing throughout, shaking his head several moments after you finish speaking. “That should...you were really in the Dustman’s Mortuary?”

“Oh, yeah!” Pinkie exclaims. “Saw her wake up and everything. It was super creepy!”

“Well,” Splinter says uneasily. “That all seems to be in order. Come in.”

You enter in a daze, strange memories sparking through your mind. 

_A hellish grey waste filled with blood-colored lightning stretches before you, a place that smells of ashes and death, and a straggling line of men and women behind you. There had been a contract signed in blood, and then the sight of a winged unicorn, a creature magnificent, the color of night and taller than any pony or horse you’d seen, stops all thought. Stars dance across her wings, and eyes of a furious green-blue shade stare out. “Step forward, my little pony. I would speak to you.”_

_You feel a sense of apprehension, but also of elation. The Dustman had been right…_

You stumble into a wide desk, still dazed. There are keys hanging from hooks, hundreds of them, behind it. You let your eyes drift along the hooks until you see what you knew to expect: one key, rusted and ancient, practically welded to the wall.

“I’d like my key, please,” you announce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blah blah, the text of the story of Pansy is drawn heavily from the Unbroken Circle of Zerthimon, from Planescape: Torment.


	13. Figures Dancing Gracefully Across Your Memory

The Festhall contains your room, as well as those of the other Sensates, and then the Sensoriums, where they have collected the experiences of all who have donated them. You try wandering through them, but experiencing others’ lives without ever having lived through them feels uncomfortably like the flashes of memory you routinely get.

At seeing your expression of distaste when finishing a sensation, one of the attendants approaches you. “If you aren’t happy with these experiences, ma’am, you can step into the private rooms.”

You do so, browsing the stones, until you find “A Week Spent Trekking the Wilds of Arboretum.” When you touch it to immerse yourself, there is only a moment of greenery before the world falls away to reveal a room, no more than four walls, a ceiling and floor, grey and drab. A purple unicorn mare stands before you, scarred and tattooed, purple eyes wide and rolling with madness.

“Greetings,” she says, her lips quirking. “I knew you’d come eventually, you thieving broodmare.”

“Thieving-”

“Surely you’ve seen the tattoos on your body, the claims that others have dwelled in your mind?” She scoots closer, her eyes narrowed in fury. “The journal that claims I am just an incarnation of some other mare?”

A hope flares in your chest. “My journal? Where is it?”

“Burned it!” she snaps. “It was full of lies! And if by any chance it had some use, I burned it to keep any of your thieves from ever seeing it.”

“Thieves?”

“Stealing my mind, trying to steal my body for yourselves! But oh, I saw a way out. Killing my body wouldn’t help, but to seal the thieving mind away, to trap it so I could take my body back...that is genius! I knew, in time, one of you would come here to steal what secrets might be hidden with the Sensates. So I crafted a trap - an experience concealed within another, awakened by the touch of my flesh. Lost magic, even to me, but it worked, didn’t it? You're stuck here, with me, until you submit and give me my body back.”

You grit your teeth and shake your head, because the echoes of this creature's mind you've experienced leave you certain she should not be allowed back into the real world. Luckily, you still have questions, which should have the added benefit of keeping your paranoid self busy.

“If you burned the journal, why did you put that message on my back?”

“I didn’t! One of you thieves put in on my flesh, a mare who tried to outsmart every berk in the planes, but I outlasted her, even if I couldn’t tear them away, cover them, or burn them away!”

The use of the word outsmarting brings an idea to your mind…

You close your eyes and try to capture the memory of a trek across another plane, rejecting the void in which this paranoid creature has trapped you. The void flickers, and the paranoid mare takes a startled step back.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

You grit your teeth and focus harder, and for a moment, the memory is of a room set within the jungles of Arborea.

“Stop it!” she howls, but even as she does so, the memory is fading, bringing you away from her trap. A moment later, you wrench yourself from the experience of the trek and back to reality. Free of the thought, you stumble away from the stone, coming to rest on the plinth of a stone claiming to contain “Longing.”

A twisting feeling of pain curls through your breast, worms of anxiety and breathlessness. Tears spill from your eyes as you try to grab at your chest. Claws scrape upon metal or stone; you look down and instead see purple scales.

You curl around the gems of your hoard, meaningless gems and minerals, no better than rocks and glass for all that you lack. You are alone again, with nothing but these trinkets to keep you company. You wonder if she will ever come back. You wonder if she understood.

You weren’t afraid to look within the future for her. You were both afraid and not afraid, terrified to see if her future...held you.

“Only you,” she had whispered, but even then there were doubts, and your heart twists at the thought. 

“Only you can help me.” Your heart seizes at the words, It’s her! You slither around the pile of gold to see a purple unicorn standing at the base of your hoard-

_Panic flashes through your chest, your real chest. Having seen the bitterness of Spike’s shade, you want to warn him, to steer him away from this treacherous creature._

“I was wrong to ask for your help, Spike. I should not have asked you to come with me.”

_That is your voice. Those are your words, but you’ve never heard anything sound so cold and emotionless. You know the mind that speaks words like that, harsh and calculating with no care for any other living thing._

“I have come to beg your forgiveness, but I must leave again. I’ll come back to you, Spike, as soon as I can.”

Hope rises in your mind while at the same time _bile rises in your throat. She is lying to you, Spike, all she sees you as is a tool. You want to warn him, to give him some way out, but-_

“No, I’d go anywhere for you. I’d face any danger, even if the Planes themselves stood in the way!”

_You feel the barest echo of satisfaction, the terrible remnants of this practical incarnation, who had so long manipulated this creature to serve her. You force it out of your mind, like how you’d forced yourself out of the paranoid’s trap. But you feel the echo of her uncertainty, the need to be certain that Spike was yours, would be forever._

“You’re not strong enough the way you are now, not to go where I am. The dangers are great, and you are but a young dragon.”

Your mind is overwhelmed with satisfaction, the knowledge of how your path can reunite with hers. “No, I can be strong. I will go with you. I promise-”

“There are no guarantees, Spike. I’ll do my best to help you, but I expect the same from you. And the way is hard. You may be required to make...sacrifices.”

_Revulsion and panic rips through your heart. She wants to hurt you, or Spike, which is you, and the pain and sorrow and guilt nearly rip you apart. You remember the pained soul trapped in the Mortuary, and the knowledge that she - that you - intended this to happen._

“Look, I left you something. A legacy, the part of my hoard that will most help you. There is a lawyer in the Clerk’s Ward, from whom you will demand Harmony, Discord, and Love, sixfold.”

“And what is the point of this? I can’t die, what use would those trinkets be?”

The words ‘what use’ strike you through the heart, the knowledge, the understanding that all this has been her desire to find ways to use things, people.

_You cannot stand this a moment longer, the sight of the monster, worse than the paranoid one, whose madness was plain to see and hurt herself worse than anyone else. You wrench your mind and-_

There is a cracking as you come back to yourself, and following that a chorus of crystalline sounds. You hear shouts, but have no time for them over the horror and revulsion at the sight of the creature you once were - are. Nothing can erase her sins from your soul, nothing can steal the torment that is in your nature, whether that torment is of yourself or others, or the very planes themselves…

You howl in fury and pain that slides into sobbing. There are vague words nearby, and then a snarl.

“Stay away from her!”

Warmth descends over you, heat on one side and the soft comfort of a quilt on the other. You lean into the warmer side, and words begin to worm their way through your sorrow.

“Hey, are you alright?” Rainbow’s voice, on edge but holding a core of warmth.

“I saw him,” you whisper. “Spike.” Rainbow’s body tenses, and you know. You know she saw exactly what you did. “He loved me, as dearly as he could, and I...I wanted to warn him. I wanted to keep him away and…”

Something brushes against your cheek, and you startle, drawing away from it. You meet Rainbow’s gaze, and she is looking at you steadily, no uncertainty in her eyes. “Listen to me. I didn’t _know_ the incarnation of you I traveled with. I didn’t _know_ those that came after, that did not seek me out. But I _know_ you. And...nothing can change what she did to me-”

“What _I_ did to you,” you insist.

“But I…” Rainbow begins shaking next to you as her voice falls. “If you’re the incarnation I spend the rest of my life with, I...won’t have any regrets.”

“Rainbow?”

She stands, suddenly, flipping a wing to knock Fluttershy, who’s been hovering close to you, away. She offers the succubus a glare before stalking off.

You finally begin to register your surroundings. The stone containing Spike’s memories has cracked in two, and further on, you see other shattered stones. The attendant is hovering at the edge of the tableau you make, surrounded by Pinkie and Rarity and Fluttershy. He does not look happy.

“Um...I think we might need to go.”

“I think you do, too, madam,” the attendant growls. “Those experiences were priceless-”

“Priceless? The memories of dragon driven mad by a unicorn who cared nothing for him? A trap set by some paranoid?”

The attendant, some humanoid with pointed ears, draws himself up to his full height about a foot taller than your head. “We are Sensates. Every emotion, every sensation, is priceless-”

“But what have you learned from them?”

The man stops short, mouth working silently as he considers your words.

“Come on, we’re leaving.” Everyone trails out after you. The Sensates let you leave peacefully, but there is a certain sensation of being watched as you leave. Once outside, though, you fall out of order, chattering among them.

Rainbow laughs and slaps your back. “You should have seen it. Your eyes went all white and then, ‘crack’!”

“Hee hee! I know! You should have seen their faces! Man, you’re really good at magic, you know?”

“No matter how ‘cool’ it was, it did not endear you to the Sensates.”

“Yeah, well I’ve got a new lead. We need to find a lawyer.”

There are many lawyers, but only one of true prominence, only one a dragon would trust with any part of his hoard, least of all the legacy he left to the one he loved. The man Iannis looks up when you appear, and you are shocked by a moment. Purple scales run up and down his arms, and arc across his nose. When he smiles, it is a toothy thing, and you are not certain if it a friendly expression.

“What brings you here?”

“I come seeking a legacy of mine,” you say. “HDL-6.”

The man snorts, running a hand tipped with claws through his hair. “Yeah, it’ll be lucky if that’s still in one piece. We had a fire a couple of years ago, ran through that entire section. I’ll go check.”

It takes several moments, leaving you to muse on the source of the fire. The paranoid, certainly...although another thought crosses your mind. _The unicorn stands at the edge of the fire, watching the city below burn. She looks back at you, purple eyes tinted red, face twisted into a maddened smile._

_"You cannot tame fire, Master."_

Iannis returns a moment later, holding something in his hand that has left him dazed. “This is my...brother’s legacy.” He snaps his head up, glaring at you. “How did you know Spike?”

“I...he traveled with me-”

“You!” Iannis’ eyes suddenly blaze with fury. “You’re the one he left with, who led him to his death! When he came back, I thought...but you lured him away with your promises and lies…”

“Give me my legacy,” you say. “Please.”

The part-dragon scowls and shoves the package at you. It contains two pieces of paper and a ring. The ring you ignore as a trinket, and open one of the scrolls, revealing a...receipt. The other, Iannis stares at hungrily.

“Can I...read it?”

You sigh and hand the letter to Iannis. When he finishes reading it, his eyes are wet, and the look he gives you is sad, not angry. “He loved you very much.”

“I know that,” you say. You turn to leave, but pause at the entrance to the lawyer’s office. “He’s interred in the Dustmen’s Mortuary, in the Hall of Remembrance. His spirit is...restless. I...if you go to see him, tell him I’m trying. So hard. And I’m sorry.”

You leave before Iannis can respond, and hurry to find a place to read the other scroll, a letter from Spike to you.

“If you are reading this, then I have died, and you have remained to feel the loss.

“My only hope in death is in knowing you remained cold to shield me from the knowledge that this would come to pass. I came to know the brief moments of emotion showed me that you truly cared for me. Know that I came with you of my own free will, and that no matter how I died, I knew you did everything in your power to save me.

“Because know this: our lives are intertwined.

“I have seen what is to come, only in fragments, but it is enough for me to know that although we will be separated, we will meet again. My death is not a farewell, but only the time before I will walk by your side again. Carry this ring with you and remember me. Keep me in your mind and your heart as long as you can, and that will be what brings us together.

“Forever, Spike”


	14. Should Have Kept the Receipt

You spend an entire evening staring at the receipt. The words of the letter have burned into your brain, and you cannot excise the torment at knowing the pain you have inflicted, not only on Spike, but on so many others.

The receipt speaks of something the Godsmen, whoever they were, had agreed to build. It seems that if Spike thought you should have this, you should investigate.

And yet…

You’re tired of following breadcrumbs left by your past selves, the people who thought they knew you, and...everything. You’re tired of everything. You want to laugh at the Dustmen, who think that a lifetime is a sorrow requiring escape, who’ve never experienced something like this.

A knock comes at the door. “Come in.”

Pinkie slips in at the command. Her hair is a little flat, and her mouth turned down. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“I...wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help you feel better. Because you’ve been real down, and I...it makes me sad seeing you this way.”

“It’s not your fault, Pinkie.” She flinches. “Pinkie?”

She begins shaking, and you reach a hoof out. Suddenly, she shakes herself once, all over, and then looks at you, all smiles again.

“I just want you to feel better. I want everyone to feel better.”

“Well, for me, I just want...I feel more for the Dustmen than any other people we've run into, and I still don’t...there’s something wrong with all of them. All this fighting...is it too much to look at this and want it all to end?”

“I don’t know. They say belief drives the planes. They divide into factions, believing they need to get enough people to believe, but if one person believes hard enough...maybe they can change things.”

You listen, finding something incongruous in Pinkie’s words. But a thought strikes you. “What would you change, if you could, Pinkie?”

Her breath catches before she offers a soft smile. “I’d keep the planes from punishing people for making mistakes.”

“Mistakes?”

“Like the Blood War. Like all of the hells.” Pinkie shrugs. “Fluttershy knows what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah, what’s that about? A succubus trying to help people?”

“Maybe she’s trying to change her nature.”

You muse on that for a while. Changing natures, changing the planes…

It all seems connected to Nightmare Moon’s riddle, but if Yves is right, even she doesn’t have the answer.

In the morning, you drag the whole gang back to the Lower Ward, where you find the Foundry of the Godsmen. The building seems to be made of copper and iron, chimneys belching smoke and steam into the air above it. The place smells of metal and coal, and it seems familiar, as much so as the Festhall. How many lives have you lived, under how many philosophies, that so many factions’ homes seem like home to you?

A stocky earth pony in silver armor stands at the iron fence surrounding the place. “What brings you to this place?”

“I’m here to pick up a commission.” You provide the receipt, which the stallion examines before handing back to you.

“I’ll take you to get this,” he says. “Come on and don’t wander off.”

Inside is...a forge, larger than any you can remember seeing. People work at individual fires, hammering out swords and shields and horseshoes and other things. “What are they doing?”

“Learning how to forge matter so they can better forge themselves,” the guard replies. “We are the Believers of the Source, who see the slow climb of the soul from obscurity to greatness. The souls of the dead awaken again to life, purified of the tarnish of their old lives and ready to hone themselves in the next.”

You shiver at his words. It’s easy to trace them, to see what the Godsmen would think of an immortal, someone tarnished by a thousand lifetimes with no hope of the cleansing fires of death. And in that vein, you know the Dustmen would hate the thought of someone who can’t die.

A sense of gloom descends over you as you follow the guard. The more you learn about the planes, and your place in them, the more you realize that you’re a blot on them, something unnatural and poisonous, drawing tormented souls to you. Why else would you have to track down some sort of demonic unicorn?

“Ah, here we go.” The guard hefts a package about twice the size of a human fist to the ground. It’s wrapped in burlap and bound in twine, and doesn’t look very impressive, but at the same time...if Spike had it, that horrible practical incarnation of yourself had commissioned it, and that means it’s going to be of some _use_ to you.

“Thank you. Come on, girls, let’s get out of here.”

Back at the brothel, you unpack the commissioned piece and stare at it, a collapsed wire framework. It looks even less impressive in this form, at least until Pinkie tugs at it, unfolding it into a wide metal circle, like a-

“It’s a portal,” Rarity breathes. “Beautiful.”

“Great, we’ve got a portal to who-knows-where,” Rainbow growls.

“To Nightmare Moon,” you say. You brush a hand against the edges, as delicate as lace and hard as steel. It tingles with a strange, dark energy that speaks of night and stars.

“That’s all well and good, but useless if we don’t have the key.”

You narrow your eyes at the portal, frustration building in your chest. You know your practical self wouldn’t have commissioned this if she didn’t know what the key was. You know her memories are buried somewhere in your mind. So you can retrieve it as long as you can find the right trigger…

Or, you think treacherously, getting into the right mindset.

“No,” you whisper.

“Faust, darling, are you alright?”

“No.” Your voice is stronger now.

“Do you need a cake? Or a party?”

Your vision begins to swim. You can feel her memories clawing their way back into your mind, that cold, self-satisfied monster who doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘altruism’.

_Oh, I know the meaning of the word. I just don’t have any use for it._

You can hear the voice, a cruel mimicry of your own, as clearly as if she were standing next to you.

_Oh, come on, don’t act like this is a ghost in your mind. We’re all in here somewhere, although some of us aren’t all that eager to chat._

You grab at your skull, hoping that there’s a way to wrench her out of your head.

_Stop that. We’re all on the same side here. Well, most of us._

You try to will yourself back to the present, the way you broke out of the paranoid’s trap, but instead throw yourself into the practical mind, and its memories.

_“Aye, many have wondered if there’s a way to follow those who the Lady have banished. Now, there’s a few thoughts on that, but you see, the Lady’s smart enough to know it’s a waste to have a thousand spells to banish a thousand berks. She just needs one, with a different destination for every troublemaker. So, you see, you gotta find a cutter who can make a portal to where the Lady sends people, and a piece of the person you want to find.”_

_“And that’ll work?”_

_“Oh, as likely as anything else.”_

_“Thank you. You’ve been...of great use.”_

You manage to wrench your mind free before you discover what happens to people when they cease to be of use to your practical self. But as much as you hate it, now you have a lead.

“It’s a piece of Nightmare Moon.”

“Pardon?” Rarity asks.

“That’s the key, a piece of Nightmare Moon.”

“Oh.” Fluttershy’s quiet response is enough to catch your attention; she doesn’t tend to interrupt people.

“What is it?”

“Well, I try not to ask too many questions about the girls who come to work with me, because everyone’s entitled to their privacy and all, but people talk, and sometimes, without really meaning to, I hear a couple of things and…” Fluttershy flushes, whether at the fact that everyone is paying attention to her or that she might have eavesdropped, you’re not sure. “Well, the thing is, Luna’s not...a unicorn. She’s an alicorn, like...Nightmare Moon.” Her voice has dropped to such a degree that it’s a strain to hear her, but the words surge through you like lightning.

“That doesn’t mean anything. You could say Rarity’s related to our fearless leader here just because they’re both unicorns,” Rainbow scoffs.

Fluttershy shakes her head. “No. Back when I was - well, a while ago, I met her. Nightmare Moon. Every alicorn takes an aspect, something that they master better than anyone, and Nightmare Moon is a creature of shadow and night. However she was made, Luna came from Nightmare Moon.”

“So what, do we need a lock of her hair or something?”

“Or something,” Fluttershy agrees, glaring at the portal. “But I don’t think it’s wise to go in there willy-nilly. No one knows where people the Lady banishes go. And I doubt Nightmare Moon’s going to be happy to see us, given that she cursed you and kills pretty much everyone else she meets.”

The others agree to rest for a night, to prepare themselves. Rarity, however, draws you aside. “I think I would like the opportunity to visit Blueblood before we go. Given that we may not return.”

“Well-”

“And I’d like some company. Come on.”

Trotting off, as if the thought of you staying behind were unthinkable, she leaves the brothel, leaving you to hurry after her. It takes some time to cross between the Clerk’s Ward and Blueblood’s court, so you have an opportunity to talk a little more to Rarity.

“You don’t seem...like I’d expected someone to act about their husband.”

Rarity chuckles. “Well, marriages aren’t all romance among nobility, Faust. I married Blueblood for his wealth, just as he did me for my title.”

“Wealth…?”

Rarity shrugs and speeds up a little, drawing away from you. “Things hardly ever turn out the way you expect. He became...obsessed with his fate, claiming he was damned to reside in the Pillar of Skulls. There was something he thought would save him, but looking cost him...most everything.”

“Except you.”

“I made a promise,” Rarity replies. “And I don’t think it was his fault, not really. Please, don’t worry about me.”

But you can’t help it. Zecora told you the mark on your flank drew tormented souls to you. You’ve seen more of Rainbow’s than you’d really cared to, and seen hints of Pinkie’s fear or guilt...but not Rarity’s. But now you almost can. Tied to someone she doesn’t love, robbed of the fortune she’d expected…

And too generous to abandon him for those failings.

“Is that bronze orb what he thought would save him?”

“Oh, yes. He never told me how it would. I wonder if he knows himself.”

"And the Pillar of Skulls…"

Rarity snorts. "The ultimate destination of liars - or, well, a certain type of liar. Those who destroyed others' lives with their falsehoods. I can't _imagine_ why Blueblood thought he was going there."

Her tone of voice suggests she has an idea, but you refrain from bringing it up. Instead, you look at Rarity, who is far from old, and think back on Blueblood. How long ago did they meet you? Which one of you did they meet? Not the paranoid, but if it was the practical…

Convincing someone they needed to find something _she_ wanted seems exactly like her.

This worrying thought occupies you through the journey through the Trash Warrens and to Blueblood’s court, where you find-

A pair of earth ponies, matching tan in tone, start to shout out at the sight of you, but pause at the sight of Rarity.

“My lady,” one murmurs.

You don’t think she hears them. You think, like you, her eyes are fixed on the pale body, resting still upon the floor. There is no visible wound, and you catch a stench like dry bones and musty dirt, like death and shadows, and your heart begins to speed up at the thought because you know now what happened to Blueblood who had something you wanted and so caught the attention of your enemy the master of shadows who wants to kill you a thousand times to scatter your memories across the planes-

“Faust!” Rarity’s voice holds none of its usual cultured tones, only a sharp, imperious one, that brings you out of your swirling thoughts. She’s standing entirely too close for comfort, but there’s a residual chill in your blood that makes you desperately want to seek her comfort.

“I...this is my fault. I told him to find this, and I knew, I knew something like this would happen.” You shiver. “I didn’t…” You want to say so many things. You want to apologize, to beg forgiveness, to rage at Nightmare Moon for setting this in motion, but the words won’t come. Just a wave of nameless anguish, _torment_. You collapse onto the ground and cry, and after a moment, Rarity slinks down next to you and holds you, the creature who murdered her husband, whispering comforting words into your ear.


	15. Maybe You Should Have Brought Candy

You stand now before the portal, a lock of hair held by your magic ahead of you, and the bronze orb secreted in your saddlebags (“it cost me everything,” Rarity said, “so none has greater claim to it than I, and I will you should have it.”).

“Are you sure you want to come?” You don’t know who you’re talking to, but you receive no negatives, no indications that anyone is backing out. You don’t know if you’re happy or not; you remember the desperation in Spike’s ghostly eyes.

You take a deep breath and step forward. As you do so, the fragment of Luna’s hair sparkles, and the air within the portal opens up to a dark, grey world beyond…

You stumble forward as if drawn, and the others follow in a babble of surprised voices.

On the other side is…

A world lit by only the light of stars, reaching from horizon to horizon in a complex dance. The ground is grey and gritty, cracking under your hooves, releasing little clouds of dust into the air. Mounds of this brittle stone rise above you, forming walls that branch away to create a maze that seems to stretch on to infinity.

You move in silence, as the dead air seems to suck in sound, leaving everything eerily quiet.

This changes when you step around a corner and come face-to-face with a bear, a creature monstrous in size, but seemingly made of the night sky. It roars, sending you skittering back.

“Out of the way!” The others scatter at your words, just before the bear roars into view, sending its claws in wide arcs to catch and rend.

What happens next is beyond compare, as Fluttershy steps out from the rock she dove behind and fixes the bear with a firm, steady gaze.

“Stop it,” she says.

The creature pauses, confused, as it peers down at the tiny creature addressing it. It lets out an inquiring sound.

“Yes, you.” Her gaze doesn’t falter as she continues to speak. “Now I know you’re used to running around marauding at whoever stumbles in here, but that’s no way to act toward innocent creatures who don’t mean you any harm.”

“I could mean it plenty of harm,” Rainbow mutters.

“Hush,” Rarity hisses.

“Rowr?”

“Well, yes, I can see that. This isn’t a nice place to grow up. But if I check...yes! I think I have a few fish for you, if you can maybe help us out a bit.” Fluttershy’s expression softens, and she draws closer to the bear, smiling.

It leans down, sending Fluttershy skittering back abruptly. “Oh! No, that would be a bad idea. I’d love a nuzzle, but I’m afraid I’d hurt you.” There’s an edge to her voice, not sorrow, but an old hurt, something familiarly painful. “But we’d so appreciate your help. We’re looking for an alicorn, something like Rarity over here, but with wings?”

The bear grumbles, but turns around to lumber off. You’re the first to move, following it as it wanders the maze, making turns almost at random. Although, you begin to feel you’re moving in circles, spiraling inward until…

She doesn’t look like a creature of legend. The mare’s mane is dark as night, but ragged and unkempt. Her coat is covered in stars, but they are tired, red stars, and at places seem to be fraying. She is resting on the ground, and does not immediately seem to notice you.

At last, however, she looks up, blue-green eyes so clouded so as to be grey.

“At last,” she whispers, “Visitors.” She climbs slowly to her feet, wings flapping with great exertion to pull her up. You feel a strange sense of unease, strange, at least, until you realize the danger you’re in.

“Nightmare Moon?” The words are cracked and harsh, as the air in this place dries your mouth and skin, but at the sound of it, Nightmare Moon’s face melts into a smile, a horrid thing marked by cracked fangs and yellowed teeth, the scent of decay on her breath.

“You...came back to me,” she says, her voice dripping with longing. “You came back. I thought...I worried you’d forgotten old Nightmare Moon, or…” She shakes her head. “But you’re back.”

She sounds so eager, so happy, you take a step forward, forgetting the danger she can pose. She steps forward as well, and you feel the brush of a wing against your face. It is dry and wispy, like a spider’s web, and you fight to not recoil.

“How could I?” You drag the lies from your lips, knowing any sign of offense will bring death on you all. “But the way is long, and so many wanted to prevent me from finding you. But I did come.”

“Did you?” The alicorn tilts her head, something inquisitive and hungry as she stares at you. “But who are you? Come, let me see what the planes have done to you.”

She grasps you with hooves as sharp as talons, and brushes them gently across your coat. They cross your withers and your whole body shivers, convulsing, as memories force their way into your consciousness like knives, splitting your head open.

_The world around you is dark and grey, and Nightmare Moon, looking down at you, holds some regal edge to her stance. You kneel, looking down and knowing that if you do this wrong, the dusty ground will be the last thing you see._

_“You are the greatest of the alicorns, Nightmare Moon. I...have come a long way to find you.”_

_She nods, a strange, slow movement, as in a dream, and her voice, though stronger than the withered voice that spoke a moment ago, is muted and distant._

_“But why have you come so far? You have come to demand something of me, as all who seek me do, but you have nothing of value. I demand payment for my services, my little pony.”_

_The words of your guide echo in your mind. Flattery is the way of the alicorns, who think themselves gods. Do not beg, do not grovel, but flatter, cajole, and with Nightmare Moon…_

_Challenge._

_“I bring no boon of baubles or blood, but a challenge, Lady.” You look up and meet her gaze, which glitters like gems. “Something impossible, quite possibly beyond your-”_

_“NOTHING is beyond my power!” The alicorn rises on her hind legs, wings spread to their full span, as her aura blazes with fury. “If it is impossible, tell me your task, and I will WRENCH the secret of it from the planes, and ALL will see that it is NIGHTMARE MOON who wrought it!”_

_“In the turnings of the Great Wheel, all things will die: all men, all demons, all gods. I seek to tear death from me, Nightmare Moon.” You look up at her, knowing there is something dangerous in your gaze, even if such an insolent expression were not offered up to an alicorn._

Your awareness fades back into the present, but you are lost, as the memory floods into you. Star-Swirl told you Nightmare Moon had ripped your mortality from you, but to hear you had demanded it of her…

“Yess,” the alicorn whispers. “I can see the shattered remains of your lives upon this broken body. Empty of memory, but full of life.”

“What do you see?”

“I see you fighting against the Planes themselves, a struggle to change _their_ nature.”

“What else?”

“Torments,” she whispers, “torments beyond imagining. When I took your mortality from you, it broke the balance of life and knowledge, the gift of life coming with a terrible price.”

“You say you took my mortality. How?”

The alicorn shrugs. “So long ago, I have forgotten the way...or perhaps it is taken from me. But I have learned from you: some things are not meant to be done. Your torments were unimaginable, seeing your mortality fall from you. Cries that chilled even my blood, and a broken, empty husk remaining.”

At the words, you feel that void, that emptiness, deep within. Named by Star-Swirl, you felt only confusion, but Nightmare Moon has shown you where the place resides. You gasp at the feel of it.

“I am hunted, my Lady. Hunted and hounded, by shadows, which are your bailiwick.”

She chuckles. “Oh, the shadows that chase you are nothing of mind, but the shadows of one who draws life from afar, a memory refracted into an enemy to match even an immortal. I cannot see to your meeting your enemy, only the shadows stretching out from it.” Her laugh grows pained and hoarse. “Perhaps it wishes to end the torment that fills it.”

“Torments?”

“Surely you have heard it. The mark upon you is the price of my gift, the torment so deep that it draws others to it. Those that draw close come to suffer, and those that suffer are drawn to it, as iron to starmetal.”

“Hey, leave her alone!” Rainbow’s voice dispels some of the strange trance of Nightmare Moon’s words. “She isn’t doing anything-”

“You? You, little pegasus, defend her? You, whose words have become a chain worse than those of the changelings, whose enslavement was honest, was not poisoned by feelings of love?”

Rainbow lets out a wordless sob, and then Nightmare Moon is upon Pinkie Pie before she can step into comfort Rainbow. “Stop, my little bone-box. What comfort do you offer, when your soul screams out with the horror you seek to conceal within you. Is it true, that a false smile is greater than a true sorrow?”

“I think that’s quite enough of that-”

“Do not speak so, my darling. Your torment is so easy to see. Denied all you deserved, damned by your presumed savior. It is fitting that he should have been destroyed by that which was meant to save him, mm?

“And then there is you.” Her smile is sharper, more hateful, as she turns on Fluttershy. “You, who have betrayed your nature, are yourself betrayed by it. It torments you to offer comfort in every way but one, unable to touch, to embrace, without destroying that which you love.”

“Stop it! If they hurt so much, stop it!”

Nightmare Moon folds her wings around herself like a cloak or a foal’s blanket. “Strange," she murmurs. "You know naught but torment, yet you would shield others from it. Fine. There is enough cruelty in the Planes without me cutting into other’s souls. But...then there is you. The worst of them all. Tormented by life everlasting. But maybe a mare so passionate, so driven, is one death will not face.”

“Please,” you whisper, “I remember so little of it. Why did you make me immortal?”

She shakes her head. “How can I tell you, who are so unlike the one who came to me before, a life marked by scars and a thousand minds. You, who came before a withered crone pleasing, pleading, offering such sweet words…” Her eyes seem distant as her words trail off. “Once before have you come demanding an impossibility, things that cannot be done. Ungrateful for all I did to you!”

“Please! Tell me, what did I demand of you? Why did you do this?”

Her eyes burn fierce and bright for a single instant. “Questions and questions you have for me, and I have answered so many. No, now is my time to ask questions. But you must know the price, that if your words are false or wrong, I will tear you apart so even my magic cannot remake you.”

For all that your quest is to die, you know the torments of death at Nightmare Moon’s hands would be worse than continuing your current path. You nod. “I understand.”

“Then why did these ones come to me? Did they not know who you sought?”

“Of course,” you say. “They knew of your legend, your power, your magnificence. They would see all these with their own eyes.”

“Did they?” She whirls on Rainbow Dash, scowling in her fury. “If she demanded, you would have followed her into this portal even if your mind _knew_ it to be your death.”

Rainbow doesn’t move a muscle, but the blades on her wings go black, as if ink were poured over them.

“Your mind is divided, and there can be no choice with you,” she growls.

She spins on Pinkie. “And what of you? You draw close to that which you fear, bone-box. You cower with every step.”

“Maybe I just thought you’d like visitors-”

“No! Driven by guilt and fear. There is no choice here. And you!” She grins at Rarity. “She has stolen all you know, from before you ever met her. She is all the remnants of anything you once desired. Tch. No choice there.”

She turns to Fluttershy. “And you. To reject your nature, you became kind. To reach out. To offer comfort. To have let such suffering go alone into the night...it would destroy all you have done now. No choice, if you are to prove yourself different from your sisters.”

“Stop it! Why are you doing this?”

Nightmare Moon snorts. “Time enough for your questions later, my little pony. No, tell me: do these companions matter to you? Or are they just tools for your will?”

Fury builds in your heart at the question. You know she’s toying with you, trying to draw out some secret knowledge. But you are sick of secrets and deception; you just want answers. You just want to end all this.

Besides, you don’t trust her intentions toward anyone but yourself, and even then, you’re not sure. “If you touch any of them, I’ll flay your skin from your bones and hang it in Canterlot as a warning for the rest of the Planes.”

The alicorn takes a startled step back; you think Fluttershy squeaks in fear, but you can’t be certain. Nightmare Moon’s face lights up in a delighted smile, though its ferocity unnerves you.

“Such passion. Such fury. It is so long since I have seen that from you. Tell me, if there is such passion in you, why did it take so long for you to return?”

You can hear the wheedling in her voice, but so too can you hear the loneliness, the sadness. You take a look at her, the creature, once magnificent beyond all description, now aged and her horn and hooves chipped and worn. People feared her so badly she was stuck in a cage for all eternity, and she was happy to see you.

You wonder if you were her only friend.

“I wanted to so badly. So many of my past selves struggled to find you, but someone sought to stop me. Someone hunts me, so I could only follow the hints left by my incarnations to find you. It took so long because so much stood in the way. But I’m here now.”

Those eyes, terrible in the right light, gleam with something - triumph or merely satisfaction you don’t know - and Nightmare Moon draws close. Her wings stretch out to you as she smiles, a sad, weary expression.

“You charm an old nag with your words...such charms you offer me.”

You shake your head. “It’s true. You’re...magnificent.”

The laugh is so deep is sends her coughing; when she regains her composure, Nightmare Moon is still smiling.

“Well, now, my little pony, the time has come for my final question to you. You must know it, and the danger of it, for it has been the doom of countless others.

“ _What can change the nature of a mare?_ ”


	16. Be Careful What You Wish For

“I don’t know.”

The world pauses, silent throughout, as a shift occurs in Nightmare Moon’s face, from a triumphant smile to confusion to shock to anger, until it has given way to a dark fury, cold green eyes shining in the depths of her night-hued coat.

“You don’t know? You don’t _know_? Do you know how long I have waited for this answer? Do you know how many have come to me, begging, pleading, crawling, searching for the answer I held in my heart? How many I have cast aside because they were not _you_ , because they could not answer the riddle _you_ posed?”

She rears up on her legs, lightning illuminating her furious silhouette, and fear quavers in your heart for a moment.

“Please, stop,” you whisper. 

The simple plea seems to confuse Nightmare Moon, because she drops to all fours, quiet. You know, however, it is the silence and stillness of a predator, hand stayed but not for long. You have to make this good.

“You say I posed this riddle to you, and in payment, you stripped away my mortality. I was meant to learn it, wasn’t I? To learn what can change the nature of a mare? But I haven’t found it yet. I’m still alive, and the torments of my past lives haunt me still.”

Nightmare Moon’s face twists, her eyes narrowing to highlight the dark scowl. But she does not slay you immediately.

“The answer isn’t something I can tell you. It is something still out there. It is something I must still find. You took my mortality, Nightmare Moon. Only when I have it back will I have your answer.”

You pause, waiting, heart racing at the thought that she will leap, sinking those fangs into your neck in her fury at being denied.

The soft chuckle startles you from silence, and you gasp. Nightmare Moon is chuckling, and it gives way to laughter, which without warning shift to tears, great heaving sobs. Uncertain what to do, you draw close and wrap a leg about her. Fluttershy gives you a bright smile when you meet her gaze.

“Clever and clever are you,” Nightmare Moon whispers. “To set a trap for old Nightmare. To tell me I cannot have my answer until I let you free, until I let you leave me again. But mayhap…” She looks down at you, lips quivering as she bends close. “You will remember old Nightmare. You will come back and tell me the answer to my riddle.”

“You’ll know when I do,” you reply. Something rises in your mind, and when you speak, your words are distant and echo strangely. “When I find the answer, I will banish the shadow I cast upon the planes.”

“Ahhh.” Nightmare Moon sounds almost normal again, strangely mocking and harsh, a goddess rather than a dying old woman. “Very well. My clever little pony. Shake the planes with your knowledge.”

“But before I go, I have questions for you.”

“Ask, then,” Nightmare Moon replies. “Perhaps I will awaken the answer to my riddle in your questions.”

“Why did you make me immortal?”

Nightmare Moon laughed. “Haven’t you listened? Because you asked. You came and begged so sweetly, charming and flattering me, and asking me to do the impossible. The moon is the way of madness and impossibilities. But it was more. You posed a riddle, my little pony. ‘What can change the nature of a mare?’ Would a lifetime do it? Would a thousand, ten thousand?”

“But why did I ask you to do that?” You resist the urge to stamp your hooves in frustration, but this dancing around the topic is driving you mad.

Nightmare Moon shrugs. “Isn’t immortality the dream of every mortal? Don’t they see the ageless fiends and burn for that life? Don’t they envy the gods for their invulnerability?”

“Death has to come to everyone. To everything.” Pinkie’s words sound so...uncharacteristically serious. It earns her a sharp look from Nightmare Moon, but you hear the weight to them.

“Unless death...holds something worse than this.”

“Ah...that is the why of it. You saw something in Death you feared more than me, more than the uncaring weight of the planes, and begged to strip Death’s shadow from you. Foolish, foolish, I know, but it was so easy to see. Water from a vessel, blood from flesh, and mortality from your spirit. All these could be rent asunder.”

“But it succeeded. You made me immortal.”

“Ha! I said rent asunder, and those words I meant. I pushed the planes beyond their breaking point, and something broke. Your lives haunt you, your past torments chasing you. You cast shadows upon the planes, your deaths fracturing a thousand times. Where Death cannot take your body, it takes everything else. Every death steals your memories, and now there is nothing left to take. A vessel, empty of history, of a soul.”

You recall the emptiness you felt when Star-Swirl told you of your mortality, but at Nightmare Moon’s words, the ache of it swells until you want to scream for it, choking and biting at the fiber of your being (but what fiber is there, with no soul and only the fragments of past memories to inhabit the body?).

“But what do you mean about the casting of shadows?”

“Your every death leaves a shadow upon the plane. Some say shadows are the soul, or the reflection of the being itself. If so, perhaps they are the memories of your lost lives. Perhaps they are the substance of that life, given form by the planes. But one thing is certain. For a time, they wander, lost, but eventually, they seek you, Nameless One. They travel the planes, called by the torment that twists your flesh, and pursue vengeance for their existence, something empty and agonizing.”

You recall the words of the alley, of the shadows that descended upon you to steal your life. And as Nightmare Moon speaks, it is as if you can see beyond the bubble of her prison to the planes beyond, and the trail of shadows following after you, seeking everything you are to wipe it from the planes.

And then you sense it: a seething mass of fury and hatred, not undirected as even a mob’s mind will be, but focused on a single target with mindless devotion:

You.

You try to scream, but shadows pour into your mouth. The magic that comes easy to you sparks and dies in their presence. And you stand alone, always alone-

“No!” The moment shatters, leaving you standing before Nightmare Moon. “I am not alone. They will not find me alone and friendless, defenseless against them.”

She shakes her head, suddenly sad. “I am afraid you are right. But there is hope. For this matter to be laid to rest-”

“I must die.”

“Yes,” she hisses. “Your mortality is whole; the proof stands before me.”

“What?”

“Neither can die while the other survives, you see. You anchor your mortal soul to life, and it anchors your body. The balance that holds you together, you see?”

“Then give it back to me.”

Nightmare Moon chuckles. “Now you truly ask the impossible of me. I never held your mortality in my hooves. But if I were you, I would find it quickly. Who knows what one might do if they held your mortality for ransom? And besides, time is not your ally. You are the death knell of the planes, my little pony, and the bell grows stronger with every turning.”

“You don’t know where it is. Do you know who might?”

Her eyes alight. “Oh, yes...my eyes stretch beyond this place, my faces like those of the moon. I watched you pass, my little pony, even as your branching path drew you ever so close.”

You almost ask, but then you recall...something about the timbre of her voice calls back to you. “You were Hilda. You helped me recall the ways of sorcery.”

“Did I? Was I so kind to offer that lesson without a price?”

“You were kind to me, Nightmare.”

And another memory surfaces, a genial old woman, a healer of sorts. “You were Mrs. Cake. You offered us hospitality.”

“And more did I offer you,” Nightmare Moon whispers. “But perhaps you have grown wary of accepting gifts?”

“You gave me another,” you whisper, digging through your memories. “Someone...who taught me something important.” It comes to you when you look to Rainbow, and Nightmare Moon’s mocking question echoes in your mind. ‘Do they matter to you?’

“Mourns-for-Trees. You told me...caring, believing, can change things.”

“Yess,” Nightmare Moon replies. “It is the core of our art. Belief is the most powerful force on the planes, some say.”

You roll that around in your head before shaking your head. “No. Belief...can’t change one’s nature. There must be the will and support to hold up that belief. There has to be a...foundation.”

Nightmare Moon’s stare turns thoughtful, but she does not comment further on the subject.

“You said, though, you knew who might know where my mortality is.”

“Yes. A mixed-up one must you ask. A chimera, a creature who defies all reason. He sleeps in a nest of treachery, a prison far from this one. He will tell you all you wish to hear. But step lightly; his home is a place far more dangerous than it appears.”

“And how does that help, trapped in this maze?”

Nightmare Moon laughs again. “The Lady’s cage is more secure than my own; I know many paths from this place. But at the edge of the maze, you may step cross-wise, your legs entangled, and the shackles of a new realm will descend upon you. But be warned: there is no coming back.”

You turn, but then Nightmare Moon’s words draw you back. “You said...there is a way out. But you stay here. You let people believe the Lady trapped you.”

Nightmare Moon shrugs. “What reason do I have to show her cages are no cage? Those clever enough can escape any of her prisons, and the rest I have no use for. I sought her to open only one cage, and this prison was my reward.”

“What…”

“I sought to free her from _her_ cage,” the alicorn replies. “It is why I gave you immortality, and why I guide you back to mortality now. I can no more allow shackles to hold another, than I could change my own nature. I freed you from the chains of mortality, and now I send you to break the bonds life holds on you.” She tilts her head, as if listening to some sound in the air. “Now go, I tire of this. I...tire…”

She sits down, and is silent.

You hurry the others away, realizing that giving you her leave is Nightmare Moon’s last gift. You brought something to her life when you first approached her, and now...you cannot imagine the millennia spent alone, brooding on the one moment you shared.

Although you can begin to empathize, when you reflect upon your own endless lives…

There are many edges to the maze, and you find that you are not lucky in identifying the correct path from here. After several false starts, the air grows dark, and lightning strikes at the middle of the maze. You freeze, looking at the others, who appear as bewildered as you.

“I think we should get moving,” Rarity says firmly.

Rainbow Dash is already crouching to take off. “Nah, just let me check it out-”

She lurches to a halt when she jumps, held in place by Rarity’s teeth firmly held on her tail. When Rainbow lands, she spits it out and glowers at the pegasus “I grew up on the streets of Canterlot. I know when it is unwise to interfere.”

The air suddenly chills, and the light begins to fade, imperceptibly. Slowly, the shadows around you being to lengthen, and the feeling of hate that echoed in your bones when Nightmare Moon spoke of the shadows that hunt you begins to weigh on your mind.

“We need to get out of here now.” You take off at a full gallop, trusting the others will recognize your panic as entirely appropriate. Now, it seems, luck is with you, because the next corner is the portal, which you reach and open just as the first of the shadows, tall, gangly creatures shaped of darkness itself, appear around the bend. You leap through, and the others follow, into the unknown destination.


	17. So Shines A Good Deed In A Weary World

The ground is cracked and dry, all but lifeless. It stretches for more than miles - it stretches for infinity. A line, no more than a smudge against the sky, rises up from the plains. But away from it is a town, a ruined, dying town. You catch sight of small knots of people huddled together, muttering or glancing suspiciously at their surroundings.

A nest of treachery…

You pull your companions from the main streets, finding something unsettling about the central square, where twisted vines grow on arches suspended over an empty space in the air...a portal, you wonder?

As you do so, however, you hear a whimper and gasp, and come upon monsters.

Men, dressed in strange, heavy armor, surround a girl, not much more than a child. Her dress is torn, and two of the men hold her between them, scowling unsympathetically at her wide, red-rimmed eyes.

“What is going on here?” The elegant tone of Rarity’s voice draws their attention, gives them pause a more confrontational tone would have not.

One of the men grins at her. “The Harmonium, miss. We’re just doing our job. Making the planes a more peaceful place.” Another of them sniggers.

“She doesn’t look at peace,” you say. And it’s true. There is something strange about her, a shimmer or light that dances over her. It’s familiar, but also makes you want to scream.

One of the men shrugs. “Well, once they’ve gotten to work, they tend to quiet down. Now, you seem like you might make a good recruit. Had enough violence to respect peace?”

“ _Not yet_.”

It isn’t a spell, what you do, just wrenching the power of the planes through your horn as Rainbow slices through one of their armor and Rarity stabs one in the neck with a grace and gentility that reminds you that she was high-born.

The power is enough, though, and the men soon enough have their peace.

Once silence reigns, the girl approaches you, cautiously, with the wariness you recognize from the knots of people out in the streets proper. “What...who-”

“You’re free to go.”

She narrows her eyes, but then shakes her head. “You need a proper thanks, or you’ll come back for it later. My father Barse is the tender of the Traitor’s Gate Tavern. Find him and see what he’ll give you for my life.” She vanishes at a run, leaving you to stare at your companions.

“Friendly place,” Rainbow drawls.

“Ooh…” Pinkie sounds worried. You glance over at her, and her expression matches.

“Pinkie? What’s wrong?”

“We are not in a fun place,” Pinkie says. “This is Curst.”

“Curst?”

“It’s the portal town to Carceri, the prison plane. It’s...well, no one trusts anyone, because Carceri’s one place traitors go when they die.”

“And the other?”

Pinkie grins at you. “I’ll tell you when we’ve got more time, but it sounds like we’ve got quest rewards coming.”

“Hold on,” you say. You have a feeling about this place, and just leaving it alone doesn’t sit well with you. The sound of hammering catches your ear, and you decide to take Pinkie’s occasional advice and talk to everyone.

You follow the hammering to a blacksmith’s; the man, scarred and ash-covered, face bruised and broken, works steadily at his anvil.

“Hi.”

“What d’ya want?” he demands.

“You’re the smith here.”

“Crumplepunch Malako, yes.”

You watch him work for a few minutes; the man pauses in his work and glares at you. “You want some smithing?”

You shrug. “Just interested. Have you been a smith all your life?”

“My father was a smith and a distiller both, and left ‘em to my and my brother Kester.” The last word has venom to it, and for a moment, you see a flicker of color across his face, like the one across the girl you saved.

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“Not in the legacy, but my brother, who’s trying to bilk me out of the income from the distillery. He says Pa meant to leave the smith to me and the distillery to him, but I know we were meant to share both.”

“Oh.” You ponder on that while Crumplepunch returns to work. You ignore Rainbow’s blatant disinterest, and watch Crumplepunch work. “Do you think there’s any way to settle it?”

“Oh, aye, if I trusted a single magistrate in all of Curst to decide on the legacy.”

“Well...what about someone not from Curst?” He gives you a narrow, suspicious glare. “I mean - an outside eye?”

“Like you? What d’ya want from it?”

You sigh. “Maybe I think a little good’ll help this place.”

He stares at you for a very long time, but at last pulls out a crumpled package of vellum. “Here’s the legacy. Mayhap you can see something I can’t.”

You take the paper, which for a moment seems heavier than its size allows. You open it, and between the smudges, scorches, tears, and the elder Mr. Malako’s apparent unfamiliarity with the written word, can’t make much of it. The two businesses were supposed to be divided between the brothers, but the means of division isn’t clarified.

“Can you help?” Crumplepunch’s face is almost painful with hope.

You shrug. “I’ll see what I can get from your brother.”

A lean, rat-faced man, Kester, you think, meets you at the distillery, glaring at you as you enter his business. “What’re you doing here?”

“I was speaking with your brother-”

“And what does that fat-assed swine want with me?”

You shrug. “What you’ve been arguing about.”

Kester slams a hand against his desk, growling as he does so. That earns a responding growl from Rainbow Dash, and, when you glance back, twin glares from Rarity and Fluttershy. “That bastard’s going to bleed me dry begging for my inheritance, and I’m not going to let him have it.”

“Why?”

That brings Kester up short. He stares at you without comprehension, eyes wide. “What do you mean...why?”

“Why are you fighting him? He's your brother; surely you learned how to share as children."

“I…” Kester's hands shake on the table. “He was going to swindle me, I had to secure my claim first.”

The glimmer passes over Kester; you think you have a hint of what it means, but you press on. “Don’t you even trust your own family, Kester? Didn’t you trust your father to do what was right for you?”

Kester's mouth slips open in shock. He snaps it closed after only a moment, shaking his head. His eyes narrow as he glares at you. “What’s your game, cutter?”

“Nothing. I…” You look back at your friends. “I just don’t understand why you’re so eager to hurt your brother...when you father left the businesses to both of you. He loved both of you. He wanted you to love each other, to share what he built.”

"I…" Kester drops into a seat behind his desk, cradling his head in his hands. "It'll lead to ruin, I _know_ , but…" He looks up at you, the hint of wetness on his cheeks. That, and a flicker of light or color, something that sets your stomach twisting uncomfortably. "You make it sound like a dream - the way things must be in Celestia."

"Well, what keeps it from being that way?" you demand. You tug the legacy out and wave it at him. "Your brother gave me his copy of the legacy because he believed I could help! He put his faith in a perfect stranger; why can't I put my faith in you?"

Kester is shaking, breath coming in short gasps. You take a few hesitant steps toward him, only for him to skitter back, a sob wracking his form.

"Sir?"

"You demand the impossible. To trust another in Curst?"

"I'm not asking you to trust a thief or a liar - I'm asking you to trust your own flesh and blood! If that's impossible…"

"No," Kester murmurs. "Not impossible. You're right; I should...talk to him." Instead, you let the legacy drift closer to him; his eyes widen when it drifts into his vision. "What is this?”

“Your brother’s legacy.” You give him one last smile. “I trust you with it.”

Leaving the distillery, you nearly run into a huge, bestial man, nearly as scarred and marred by violence as you. Men, armed with knives and swords, trail after him. He stops in place, staring at you with a sharp, keen eye.

“Look at you, cutter. You look like a woman who knows her way around a fight. Want to make a few coppers?”

“How so?”

“We’re tracking an old man who’s got something we want, and we brought along a few people in case he needs persuading.” His friends laugh nastily, and here, you see none of the flash or shimmer across their face that had pushed you to help the others you'd met in this place.

You smile. “Well, maybe you need a little practice.”

The man’s face twists in confusion, which is why he is unprepared for Rainbow’s lunge with wings glittering midnight-dark with fury, and why his friends don’t react before Fluttershy drifts past them, wings brushing against them like a gentle caress.

The flurry is less one of violence, and more one of necessity. When you’re finished, the men are all dead, and none of you are more than bruised. You glare at the bodies, until you feel a poke from Rainbow’s wing. You look back at her to see a sharp, almost accusatory expression in those eyes.

“Rainbow Dash?”

“What was that for? You didn’t even ask his name.”

“I didn’t need to hear it,” you reply. “There was something too pure about him.”

“He held no guilt,” Fluttershy says. “His heart was at home here.”

“I don’t want to get too close to the sort of person who likes it here.” You turn away from the bodies and walk back toward the town center.

There, a griffon, lean and dressed in dark leather armor, paces the square. Her armor all but conceals her coat, and only her amber eyes are visible. She pauses at the sight of Rainbow Dash, who sneers.

“Let’s get out of here. We don’t need to spend more time around traitors.”

The griffon scoffs. “There's plenty of argument to be made that _your_ people are the traitors. But I'd only bring _that_ up if I had the energy to hold onto all those old grudges." She flutters naked wings to settle herself. "And as it happens, I don't. Do you?"

Rainbow growls, and you tug her back with a light hoof. The griffon glances sidelong at her, but doesn’t say anything further. She sniffs and moves to walk away.

“Hey,” you say. She pauses. “You look...unsettled.” It had been just a flash, but looking at her straight on, you can see the hint of a flicker of color along her face, something you're coming to suspect is the mark of those troubled by Curst.

She growls, clawing at the earth. “I am. Curst is not the best place to be in politics. Even when people aren’t backstabbing you, they’re just...really sort of jerks.”

Perhaps the griffon is too comfortable in Curst, but it seems unfortunate to have so many troubles. “Can I help?”

“Maybe. Look, I’m in an argument with this lady, Siabha. Maybe you can cause some trouble for her.” At your shocked expression, she snorts. "Oh, you don’t need to kill her, just see if you can get her thrown in some hot water.” She grins. “You’ll have the thanks of Gilda, a griffon who’ll have enough power soon.”

You turn, as if to walk away, but then pause. “It doesn’t seem like a helpful attitude, trying to get your rivals jailed.”

“Yeah, you think we should all try to get along?”

"Maybe. How many people had to work together to defeat the changelings? Do you think they would have done it if they couldn't get along?"

Gilda fixes Rainbow Dash with a venomous glare. “What, you sat around telling her about all of our history? You want to find a changeling and offer up your heart, too?”

Rainbow’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t move from where she stands. This only seems to infuriate the griffon. “Will you let this ground-bounder speak for you? Did she steal your tongue, as the changelings steal will?”

Rainbow shakes her head. “There are things more important than war, Gilda.” She looks up, eyes glittering like rubies. “Maybe you don’t agree with her, but there’s a better way than trying to hurt each other.”

“And who taught you heresy like that?” Gilda demands.

Rainbow flushes and ducks her head, jerking it toward you. “Her.”

Gilda snorts and steps back. "That might work out for whatever lame planes you've been hanging out in, but in Curst, it'll get me eaten alive."

"Will it?" Rarity shrugs. "There aren't so few factions around here that they can _all_ screw you over. _Someone_ will end up on your side, and when it gets around you won't screw _them_ over, you'll get more on your side." She gives Gilda a sudden sharp smile. "I wonder if one honest creature might be able to change this town for the better."

Gilda shoots her a sharp look, but doesn’t protest. After a moment of silence, though, she does shrug. “Well, maybe I’ll give it a shot. I’ll see if Siabha and I can’t work something out, at least. Thanks, losers.”

You stare after her as she takes off, wondering if you’ve been thanked or insulted.

“Man, I hate dealing with griffons. They’re the ones who sided with Hurricane, mostly, and they love making you feel like you’re less cool than them.”

“Well, maybe she’ll be nicer from now on.” At Rainbow’s glare, Fluttershy shrinks in on herself. “It was just a thought.”

“Let’s get to the bar,” you say. “I think I need a rest.”


	18. No Good Deed Goes Unrewarded

The bar is like bars everywhere, except there are a lot more suspicious glances and a lot fewer people sitting in groups. You head to the bar and find a wide man, pale and bald, who glares at you as you approach.

“And who’d you be?”

You give him what you hope is a friendly smile. “I would have thought your daughter mentioned a unicorn covered in scars.”

“That she did.” The man’s eyes narrow. “And you’ve come to collect your debt. What do you demand for the life of my daughter?”

“I just want information.”

The man, Barse, snorts. “Well, that’d be a first. What do you want the chant on?”

“The chimera imprisoned here. Where is it? How can I find it?”

“Ah. Well, that’s another first, something I can help you with.” He smirks. “There’s a way in besides sneaking or getting on the wrong side of the Harmonium, but there’s a key, and no one person has it. Marquez has one piece, and I think he might just hand it over to you. Go on.”

Marquez is a heavyset blond man, wearing the same armor as the men you’d killed assaulting that girl. You approach cautiously, not certain of what to expect from him.

“Mar...quez?”

He turns, and at the sight of you, gives a wide grin. “We heard of you. A purple unicorn who penned some of my fellows in the Dead Book.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be.” He scowls abruptly. “I'm with the Harmonium. We're to bring peace - harmony - to the planes. Some folk, like the men you met, think it's just as good that people don't fight back. My brethren, I found, were selling people into slavery, good people who’d done nothing wrong. The slavers still alive won’t forget you in a hurry. I’d be glad to hear anything I can do for you in return.”

“Barse said you can help us with a key into the prison?”

“Well, I’ve no idea why you’d want to get in, but here goes. My part of the key… _’Such place eternal order had prepared for those unruly’_. Now go see Kitla; she’ll set you right if you can help her out.”

A tall woman, lean and striking in appearance, watches over the bar without seeing; she nods at the sight of you, even as her hands twitch uneasily.

“Kitla?”

She smiles, a little harshly. “Strange that you should come so easily demanding your due, my lady.”

“What?”

“I was owed a debt by one man, but he was owed a debt by another, and their arguing would have meant I’d never get my money. But then Kester comes by with my money, and says he worked out his feud with his brother because of a unicorn covered in scars. So spit it out: what have you come to demand in exchange?”

“I didn’t-”

“No one likes having debts over their heads here, my lady, so tell me what I can do for you.”

Well, if the opportunity’s there, you might as well take it. “I’m trying to find the key to get into the prison.”

She chuckles. “Well, you’re free to choose a boon that’ll get you killed if you like. _‘Here the Prison ordained in utter darkness’_. And I’ll tell you who else has a piece of the key for free. Go see Nabat over there.” She points to a dark man, whose eyes are but slits through which he sees the world. You can see the flicker of strangeness over him, the one that makes your chest ache.

“Thank you,” you say, and travel to the man’s side. “Nabat?”

“Who asks?” he says.

“I, well...me.” You shuffle nervously. “I...Kitla said you might have a way to get into the Prison, part of the key to it?”

He stares at you for a long time. “I heard a rumor that a scarred unicorn slaughtered Wernet’s gang. Would that be you?”

“Was he Harmonium?”

Nabat’s laugh is harsh. “Not likely. No, he was a beast of a man, and he and his gang were wild.”

“Well, we met a man out to slaughter some old guy for his money,” you say. “I didn’t take kindly to him, so we let them take up ranks in the Blood War, for a real taste of violence.”

Nabat hisses sharply through his teeth. “Well, that’ll be enough for me.” At you questioning glance, he smiles. “Someone framed me for stealing money from Wernet, and they kicked me out. I started a rumor that Kyse, the caretaker of the dump, had a hidden treasure, hoping they’d attract enough attention trying to kill him that they’d get into more trouble than it was worth.”

“You were planning to let them kill an old man?”

Nabat’s glance at you is startled. “Oh, I doubt it would come to that-”

“You used him as bait for your plans,” you growl. You grab him with your magic and lift him, just an inch, from his seat. His eyes widen at the force you're exerting on him, but you don't have _time_ for that. “Maybe they were in the wrong first, but what you did...there’s a special place in the hells for people who kill others with their lies, you know.”

There’s a quiet squeak from Pinkie Pie, but Nabat’s expression hardens. “I’ve enough time to keep my head off of the Pillar of Skulls, cutter.”

“Oh, that’s what everyone thinks. And then something unexpected happens and they die and then they get to spend the rest of eternity in pain because they believed the planes would give them enough time to repent. It’s not a very good plan.” Nabat swivels his head to glare at Fluttershy, but she matches his gaze evenly for several long moments, enough for him to take in her gleaming red eyes, the hint of fang in her gentle smile, and the sheer gravity of her expression. It proves too much, eventually, and he looks away, shoulders slumping. You lower him gently to the floor, allowing him to step back.

"You're right, I suppose. I'll give you my piece of the key...and I'll see to Kyse, make sure he's not come to any harm. _'Their portion set'_ , you'll add to your incantation. Now go bother Dallan.”

Dallan is entangled with a woman, both their clothes still just enough to maintain modesty. He barely pays attention to you as you approach, until you poke his shoulder.

“What?” He glares at you as the woman giggles and buries her face into the crook of his neck. “I’m busy.”

“Look, I just want a piece of the key to get into the Prison-”

“Wait a minute.” He shoves the woman aside and stands up, peering at you. “I heard people saw you talking to Gilda. You didn't set her off, did you?"

"What?"

"She's sent letters to everyone in the council, trying to open up a new spirit of cooperation. Everyone's trying to figure out her angle. Me, I think there's something else going on." He winks at you. "But for all that chaos, I’ll give you my piece of the key: _‘As far removed from the gears that turn the Planes'_. Now see if Dona Quisho will help you out; I’m busy.”

A plump, aged woman with red hair sits at a table; when you approach, she gives you a thin smile.

“Ah, so it comes down to you and it comes down to me. Barse said you are seeking the key to the Prison. I'll be happy to help, as long as you do me a favor first. There’s a fiend locked away in this city, and I need you to free him.”

“Why?”

Her face twists in disgust. “Because he’s mine, that’s why! I paid for him and they took it, and I don’t need another reason. You need me, so you’ll do this before I tell you anything.”

“No, I won’t.”

The woman shrugs. “Have it your way.”

“I don’t think you understand." You step closer to her, feeling the same disgust for her as you do for the strange, callous incarnation that haunts your memories. "Doing things this way, screwing over the planes to get my way, is how I got to where I am now, running around a city full of traitors hoping to find the way to undo all the damage I did.”

“Yes, and?”

“Whatever you think you’re gaining now, you’re hurting yourself just as badly as you are your rivals! You keep doing things like this, and you’re going to end in a worse place than this, _and you won’t be in charge_. Hiding from the consequences of your actions is just going to make things worse.”

She snorts. “Those old lies? Look, if you can’t prove there’s anything wrong in this-”

You grab her face with your hooves and turn it toward you. You reach down into the empty parts of your spirit, and touch your horn to her forehead. You will her to see the chains of Torment, to see everything you’ve bought with your efforts to flee justice.

There is a gasp, and then silence. You hold the position for a long time, and when you look up, Dona’s face is pale as bone. “What…”

“That is waits those who follow self-serving paths,” you say. Your voice is hoarse and your mind tired. “Your only hope is to change, now, before your destiny is set.”

“But how…”

“That’s the question,” you reply. “The one you need to answer. _What can change the nature of a mare?_ ”

Dona shakes her head. "As impossible as changing the planes," she murmurs. She gives you an abrupt, poisonous smile. "Running around making people in Curst get along won't do any good, you know. You'll rip it straight out of the border."

"What?"

"Curst rests on the border between the Outlands and Carceri. But if the city grows too wicked, or too good, it’ll slip away to another realm, and another city’ll take its place.” She shakes her head, sadly. "Give us a chance at a better life, and you'll damn another group of selfish, treacherous souls to our fate."

You are ready to protest that Curst shouldn’t have to sit on the border of Carceri, but then the rest of her words strike you. “You mean there’ll always be a place like this?”

"Oh, yes. So maybe I'd best give you your key, and send you on your way before you upset things anymore. _'So Chaos not the worlds would unmake'_. Now go back to Barse, and he’ll see you off.”

You return to the bar, and the man gives you an appraising look. “I heard that last bit," he says. "She's right; you'd best get out of here before you upset things further."

"I'll do as I like," you snap, not feeling much guilt at the vicious response.

Barse shrugs. "Then are you ready to go?"

You nod.

“You sure? There’s no coming back once you do.”

“I’m ready,” you say.

Barse nods, and leads you to the back of the bar, a dimly-lit corner with an arch sketched along it. He gives you a gentle shove before heading back to the bar.

You take a careful stance, and begin reciting.

_“Such place eternal order had prepared for those unruly_

_“Here their Prison ordained in utter darkness_

_“Their portion set as far removed from the gears that turn the Planes_

_“So Chaos not the worlds would unmake.”_

The prison is twisted and full of monsters, blobs of flesh that seethe with evil, things with more blades than hands, and things still worse. You wonder what brought them here, and for what purpose. Fluttershy, it seems, grows calmer the deeper you probe into the prison. You keep meaning to ask what is happening, but you’re not certain how to frame the question.

And then you find a strange haven within, a circle a few dozen feet across, embellished with arcane symbols, some of which are foreign even to you. A pale orange unicorn stallion stands near the far end, though he starts and rears when he notices you. Dressed in an ill-fitting blue robe coated in stars and looking at the world through glasses that dwarf his face, his apparent innocuity setting off alarms at the back of your mind.

Rarity, however, proves more adept at handling the moment of uncertainty, trotting to the edge of the circle nearest the stallion.

"Hello hello! This is a lovely little circle you've got going on here; very cozy. My name is Rarity, by the by, and this is Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, and...another friend of mine."

The stallion's eyes widen almost imperceptibly. "I always thought it was a myth," he murmurs.

"Pardon?"

But it takes only a moment to see he is staring at your flank...at the mark of Torment. You try to shift to place it out of sight, but the damage is done.

"The Nameless One," the stallion whispers.

"It's a dangerous thing, knowing who I am," you retort, and you're not certain if you're the one feeling the flare of panic, or if you're simply influenced by the more anxious incarnations.

"Oh that, I know. I've seen tales of many of those drawn into your orbit. Moondancer, Trixie, even the son of a god brought low by you!" He doesn't seem frightened, or angry, just excited, though he edges a little further from the rest of your group, despite the presence of what you're certain is a ward between you and him. "And of course, the central mystery surrounding such a creature, if it should exist: how can a mortal cease to die?"

A chorus of voices rise in your mind, a thousand or more calling out to destroy this stranger who seeks knowledge of you. But you grit your teeth, refusing to allow their cowardice to dictate your actions. And more, if he's scribed a ward in the depths of Curst, a moment of kindness might be worth the risk; after all, _you_ can't die, but your friends can't survive a night down here, and they're exhausted.

"That's a mystery I might be willing to illuminate...for the right price."

He flushes and skitters back. "I...don't really have much to share."

"You've got a Magic Circle Against Evil," Pinkie interjects. "And if my eyes are right, it's permanent. And you know what they say: In a prison full of demons, the man with a Magic Circle Against Evil is king."

"I...don't think I've heard that particular expression before," the stallion says warily. "But…" He glances the group over. "I can let you stay with me." He taps his horn against the ground, causing the circle to vanish. "Come along, and quickly."

The following conversation is interminable, full of too many holes to leave the stallion, Sunburst, satisfied. But he doesn't kick you out, giving you all a chance to rest. 

You, however, are restless, and you discover that Fluttershy doesn't need to sleep, giving the two of you a chance to really talk. The two of you settle at the edge of the circle furthest from the other sleeping ponies, almost close enough to touch.

“I keep meaning to ask you, Fluttershy, what brought you here, out of the lower planes.”

“Oh, it’s not really all that interesting.” She gives you a weak smile. “I spent a lot of time with the baatezu - the creatures of law and evil - and when I left I guess I was a little disillusioned with evil altogether.”

You wonder if there’s a polite way to ask how Fluttershy would have been...illusioned with evil in the first place.

“Did you think evil was...good or something?”

Fluttershy shakes her head. “Oh, no. It’s just...animals act in a certain way because of their instincts, and you can’t really be mad at them for that. Baatezu and tanar’ri are like that. Their nature is evil, and so they can’t help but act that way. I guess spending all that time around baatezu made me think...why should I be like an animal? I’m better than that. I don’t have to be evil, not if I choose otherwise.” She smiles, but it’s sad and pained, and now you can see the source of her torment. “I don’t think I would have made it if it weren’t for my friends back at the brothel and...now you, I guess.”

She reaches out, and freezes an inch away from you, trembling. You look up at her, and at the fear and self-loathing boiling in her eyes. Her touch is poison, so it means she receives none of the comfort due to any living, feeling thing.

It’s not right, you think, and grab her, dragging her in close. She struggles for a moment before collapsing, sobbing, as she gives into the affectionate contact. It burns, the feeling of her spirit sucking at your life, but you hold on, knowing that it’s a small price to pay for this moment of comfort, to let Fluttershy know she’s loved.

You awaken uneasily the next morning, your body feeling bruised and broken; Fluttershy gives you an apologetic look, and you just shake your head. You won’t let her feel guilty for killing you, for accepting the touch she so desperately needed.

Still, it makes for a slow start. Things speed up as the fiends keep coming, until at last you come to a door made of adamantine, black metal gleaming with solidity. Rarity gives it a single contemptuous glare before she pokes at it with her horn long enough to force the lock open, and then…

Inside is a wide platform, on which rests a creature of fantastic appearance. It bears a goat’s head, with an antler and some twisted parody of a unicorn’s horn. It’s body is oddly serpentine, ending in a dragon’s tail. It bears the legs of a lion, eagle, goat, and a lizard. You see a single fang in there as it smiles, seeing you, the crimson light in its eyes flickering.

It stands, and you can see the chains binding it to the platform. Like the door, they are adamantine, and seem to sparkle with some deep power.

“Hello,” the chimera drawls. “I’ve been waiting for you.”


	19. One Creature's Torment is Another's Delight

“How can you be waiting for me? I only just learned I needed to find you!”

The chimera rolls its eyes - or, rather, it rolls its head around its eyes. It’s highly disconcerting. “Oh, creatures like me are always getting premonitions and flashes of knowledge that help them leave visitors in awe.”

“And what sort of creature are you? Nightmare Moon called you a chimera.”

“Oh, yes. A whole bunch of creatures all mashed together into one creature.” The creature pulls a file from somewhere and begins sharpening the claws on its lion’s paw.

“You mean all sorts of creatures...blended, to work together in harmony.”

At your words, the creature’s eyes light up. “That’s a wonderful description of what I am. You could even call me Harmony. Yes, I like that name.”

“Well, Harmony, sir, I came to you with a question…”

“That’s a little tricky,” he says. “These chains are a bit of a problem for me.” He tugs at them, showing their ability to hold him in place.

You look at the chains, beginning to feel a seed of doubt. “And who stuck you down here?”

“Oh, that. A whole bunch of humorless busybodies. Have you ever heard of the Clockwork Nirvana of Mechanus?”

“Ooh! I have! They’ve got all sorts of gears and clocks and pretty machines that just go around and around and around forever!”

“Ha! You’d think that, but they’re just a whole bunch of...well, I am not a vulgar creature, but let’s just say there are a number of impolite words I could use describing the Modrons.” Harmony pulls a tray from behind him, on which are set six steaming cups. “Tea?”

“I...don’t think we have the time.” You are not about to take tea from Harmony, even if you’re...fairly certain he doesn’t want to kill you.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs and chomps down one of the cups, spitting out the tea as an afterthought.

“But you said your chains...are keeping you from helping us? Nightmare Moon said you knew something I could learn from you…”

“But what help can I be?” Harmony shrugs, the chains suddenly wrapping him from neck to toes. “The modrons sealed up my tongue as well as my power. Said they didn’t trust me to not talk my way out of this.”

“Well, how do we break them?”

Harmony chuckles. “Do you think they told me the way of it? But the chains are made by the modrons, creatures of law and order. Perhaps a spark of chaos…” He glances at Fluttershy, his eyes sparking with meaning.

“Oh!” Fluttershy skitters away. “I don’t think I could...I’ve been trying very hard to be good, lately.”

“But chaos runs deeper than evil in you, doesn’t it?” Harmony’s smile just manages to highlight his single fang. “The urge to upset things a little, that’s hard to ignore.”

“I…”

He glances back at you. “And Nightmare Moon told you it hurts her to see things caged, didn’t she? Why would she send you to me if she didn’t want to see me free again?”

He makes a certain amount of sense, you have to admit. You glance at the other girls, but none of them seem to be offering much advice. You take a deep breath. “See what you can do, Fluttershy. And I’ll...try to help.”

Rainbow Dash steps close to you. “I can help; pegasi _know_ the way of Limbo.”

You nod, and close your eyes. A litany of words from Rainbow focuses your mind on chaos, on a world without rules or boundaries, and whispers from Fluttershy speak of her own attempts.

For a few minutes, there is only your focus, and the chorus of Rainbow and Fluttershy. And then the ground shakes hard enough to send you stumbling into Rainbow Dash. You both go down in a pile of feathers. It takes more than a few moments to struggle apart, and you hear a snigger from Harmony at your efforts.

When you are composed again, you turn, and see Harmony, unbound, staring intently at the ceiling of the chamber.

“Is everything okay?”

“Hm?” He glances down at you. “Oh, yes. Just looking at things. You’ve got quite a handle on that head of yours, a real good head for chaos.”

“So, are you going to help us?”

“Oh, of course, I’ll send you on your way. So share: what are you looking for? Power? Wealth? Love?” He winks at Rainbow Dash, whose cheeks redden as she scowls at him.

“Knowledge. My mortality was taken from me, and I want to know where it is.”

“Hm.” Harmony stretches his arms. “There is a fiend, Fhjull Forked-Tongue, who can guide you. He dwells beyond a portal in this prison.” He throws you a shard of his broken chains. “That is the key.” He leaps up at the ceiling, vanishing into it as a diver might vanish into water. A moment later, however, his head reappears. “I really wish you good luck on your quest. The outcome should prove to be...very interesting.”

You shrug at the others, and lead them from the chamber, along a pathway of hewn rock that twists and bends with little sense. You are uncertain, as you travel, whether you have moved deeper, or if the path crosses over itself. At last you come to a huge chamber, its walls smoothed to a polished edge, and the stench of magic and dust in the air. Something stands in the room’s center, something that gleams with the strange light that has plagued your vision since Nightmare Moon’s maze. You step closer and come upon the form of a pony encased in armor. No skin or eye is visible through the metal, and strange symbols are engraved in its surface. On the flank of the armor, however, is an emblem of a winged red serpent.

PInkie yelps and ducks behind you.

“What is that?”

“That’s the sign of the Mercykillers,” she whispers. The others pause in their own steps and bolt to place you between them and the armor.

“Wait - what’s the problem? What are the Mercykillers?”

“Mercy clouds the mind. Mercy softens the heart. You need a clear mind and a stout heart to seek justice.” Rarity’s words have the feel of something recited by rote, a creed or something similar, but her words are sharp and poisonous.

“Oh.” You take a step closer to the other pony. A word echoes in your mind as you stare at the armored pony, something achinging familiar. “Applejack?”

At the word, you know there is more to the name than the half-remembered promise to Mourns-for-Trees. Something your past lives knew…

“Um, I don’t think…”

“Quiet, Pinkie,” you say. “We made a promise, but also…I know her, I think.” You reach out and press your hoof against the armor. It clanks oddly, as if the armor is empty within-

“Awaken, Applejack.”

The air shudders, rattling the armor and sending a chill down your spine.

“I have AWAKENED.” Applejack’s voice is no voice. It sounds nothing like her granny, nothing like any living thing. You wonder, looking at her, if the promise that she was the most stubborn pony in the planes would leave her the sort to ignore her own death…

“Applejack?”

“That is my NAME.”

“You’re a...Mercykiller.”

“Yes. A warrior for TRUTH and JUSTICE.” The helmet turns toward you as smooth as a well-oiled machine.

“But you’re…you’re down in this prison. Did you do something wrong?”

“NO.” The iron-clad words are like a blow. “I was IMPRISONED here by a no-good, LYING, VARMINT. Tricked to come to this PLACE of TREACHERY, believing she had ACCEPTED her PUNISHMENT.”

You feel a slow crawl of concern; it takes no small imagination to think who could have been responsible. You doubt Applejack will accept the explanation that you’re a different pony now. You wouldn’t, either.

“Well, I think you’re free now.”

“I’m not FREE. I have RESPONSIBILITIES.” A sigh rattles the armor. “I have to pursue CRIMINALS. I have to fight EVIL.”

“Do you mean you fight fiends?”

“...No. The existence of fiends is the way of the PLANES. Every time you KILL one, ANOTHER rises to take its PLACE.”

“But, don’t evil souls become fiends when they die?” Fluttershy asks. “Lemures and dretches and things like that?”

“I…” Applejack falls silent.

When she doesn’t speak for a few moments, you risk to speak. “Applejack?”

“I have to BELIEVE my purpose is TRUE. Faltering just because it’s HARD, letting the truth of the matter SHAKE my RESOLVE weakens me as much as MERCY does.”

“But if it’s impossible-”

“It’s not IMPOSSIBLE! Though it might take until the END of the PLANES, I will bring JUSTICE! Otherwise...this would have been a WASTE.”

You know how dangerous this is, speaking with a person you are certain wants you dead. But you don’t know how long Applejack has been here, how long she has stewed in the fear that her mission is hopeless. You can’t leave behind such torment, not without some chance of alleviating it.

“Do you want to...come with us?"

The helmet turns to you. “There are too many LIES in your spirit. I can’t SEE what kind of pony you are. But the REST of you…A demoness. EVIL by NATURE. A pegasus. RULED by PREJUDICE. Nobility. FALLEN and turned to THIEVERY. And...one DAMNED ALREADY.” The snort creates a sound like clanging swords. “If I judge you by the COMPANY you KEEP, there is no HOPE for you.”

“How about your Granny?”

“WHAT?” There is enough of a pause there that you know you’ve surprised Applejack.

“We spoke to her. She was worried for you, Applejack. She trusted me to find you and tell you that. Associating with criminals. Surely that means she's beyond hope?"

“GRANNY...asked about me?” Her voice never loses its ethereal quantity, but Applejack’s words carry the plaintive tones of a worried child.

“She was trying to make trees grow in the middle of Canterlot.”

“She was always...a stubborn old mule. Wants to fight against...the inevitable.”

“We’re...going to pass that way again, if you’d like to come with us.”

Applejack’s motions seem to have a hint of uncertainty, as she takes a step toward you. “You have...MERCY.”

You shrug. “Probably.”

“You are WEAK.” There is strength in Applejack’s voice. You worry you might have made a mistake here…

“Oh, no, you’re not getting away calling her weak, you tin can.”

Applejack’s visor swivels to face Rainbow Dash. “The STRONG don’t need DEFENDERS.”

“You mean if I can pound your flank, you’re not strong? I like that challenge!”

“Rainbow Dash, stop it, please!”

The pegasus drops to the ground, still glowering at Applejack. “She’s asking for it.”

“No, she isn’t. There’s a difference between a man who’s mocking you on his way to kill a defenseless old man, and a pony you just don’t like.”

Flickers of white light gleam within Applejack’s visor as she turns to you. “What is your PURPOSE?”

“My...purpose?”

“The REASON for coming to this PRISON.”

“I broke the laws of the planes," you say, "and I can't die. This prison...is on the way to finding how to rectify that mistake."

Applejack does not speak for a long time. You wait with bated breath, knowing revealing your crime is a great risk. Applejack could decide to carry out a sentence immediately…not only on you, but your friends for associating with you.

"I met another who CLAIMED she had seen the ERROR of her ways. She IMPRISONED me until my body should ROT."

You shrug. "Then I'm sure you won't be tricked again."

“...I want to come with you. I want to ENSURE you want JUSTICE. I want to SEE you to your FATE."

“Very well, Applejack. And maybe we can see your Granny again before I do.”

She does not respond to that; you wonder if the strange, empty armor has no room for the love Applejack might once have had for Granny, or if she hopes to distract you from reminders of the part of her not obsessed with justice.

“We’re moving out,” you say, and approach the far end of the room, where a portal glimmers at the approach of the broken chain-link.


	20. Behind the Smile

The blasted desert stretches for eternity. You wonder, idly, about how the plane can be a ring, if it doesn’t have a real edge. But that isn’t an immediate concern. The animals living here...those are a bit more of a concern.

You’ve been running for an hour, trying to evade them as they lay chase to the only food source in reach. It’s...well, a little tiresome.

Tiring, too, if Rarity’s increasingly desperate gasps are any indication. You pass the rib cage of some long-dead colossus; you wish, briefly, you knew enough about necromancy to turn the corpse into something that could defend you.

“Ooh! Look at that!” You look, but without any real urgency, because Pinkie has since insisted you look at the last three hundred skulls you passed, a cloud, a series of cracks that resembled her grandmother, and her own nose.

Another huge corpse lurks nearby. It differs from the others you’ve seen, though, because there is a clothesline hanging between the two horns of the thing’s skull.

The chance of it being Fhjull’s home seem about even, but the chances of it being a refuge from the monsters are much, much better. You angle toward it, and find the creatures veering off as you draw close to it, until you all stand, unmolested, at the side of the skull. Under the hollow of the skull is a set of stairs descending into the ground, where the walls have the hardness of stone despite their dirt composition, and where strange, hellish worms hang, dried, from the ceiling. Your stomach roils at the sight of them.

“”What are you doing here?” A voice, smooth as silver, cuts through the air, and a moment later, a fiend, one-winged and pale flesh marked with scars, steps to the bottom of the stairs, glaring at you. “Goodness, a tanar’ri! And a motley crew of useless adventurers. What a wretched day! What I wouldn’t give to cast you back into the Outlands and let the beasts feast on your bones.”

Fluttershy shrinks back from the abuse. “We’re terribly sorry. We can come back later, if you want.”

“No,” the fiend says, his voice dripping with misery, with poison. “You are most welcome to stay here as...long as you want. I...insist.”

He steps aside, scowling as he moves deeper into his home. You glance back at the others and shrug before following.

“What brings you here? Has the tanar’ri brought you here to kill me? To mock the fate of Advocate Infernus Forked-Tongue? I warn you, whatever you’ve heard, I can kill any cutter who tries to take my life first.”

“I didn’t want to kill you. I just...we were told you could help us find something I’m looking for.”

“It is true that if you ask, I must help you...if I am able,” the fiend growls.

“Thank you. My mortality has been lost to me. I want to know where to find it.”

“Hm…” The fiend begins to pace around you, examining your every scar and cut as he does so. “An unusual case, a mortal without mortality. A curse that leaves you immortal, a blasphemy against the planes.”

“And do you know where my mortality is?”

“Mortality born of torment,” Fhjull murmurs. “Yes, I have heard of such a thing. I have heard it said that your mortality would be taken to the Fortress of Regrets.”

“And where is that?”

Fhjull begins to chuckle. As you move close to him, he throws his head back, erupting into half-mad cackling. “Where? I don’t know! I’ve not a clue! What a relief to say that, to say I cannot help you!” He grabs you and drags you close. “I know nothing about it, save the name, and the danger, a place none would dare set foot in. But as to where it is, I cannot help you!”

“Do you know who could?”

The delight on Fhjull’s face fades back into a scowl. “Cease your prattling and I’ll say. Within Baator, the layer of Avernus, is a pillar of skulls, the home to those who lied and betrayed, ending lives with their lying tongues. Their punishment is to share only truths, to draw of the knowledge of the dead traitors to answer all questions asked of them…of course, such knowledge is the nature of the pillar, not the skulls.” He shoots a sharp look at Pinkie Pie.

“I don’t think this is such a good idea,” she says. “He’s not a very nice person-”

“Of course I’m not! But bound and chained to aid others, to do acts of charity and goodness, until the end of time, I am!” He scratches at his arms, hissing in pain as he does so. “So take what you need and get out of my sight, rather than tormenting me any further!”

A flicker over your sight comes with a flash of insight. Every soul you look upon carries some measure of torment, but some know more...and the sight of them has been awakened to you. It haunted you through Curst, and now you can see the torment dripping from Fhjull’s body.

“Can you tell us where to find the pillar?”

“There is a portal to that place beneath the arm of the skeleton just outside,” he growls. “It would be best for you to hurry-”

“And how do we get back?”

He pauses, and offers you a grim smile, almost pleased. “Ah, we’d have been proud to have you as a tempter, my lady. A keen mind do you have. You must find the place of the portal, and a piece of obsidian to cut your tongue. The place will come from the pillar.”

“And the obsidian?”

Fhjull shrugs.

“Do you have any we can have?”

“Would you rob an old fiend blind? Would you steal all I have for the sake of your foolish quests?”

“I could STOVE in your SKULL and bring JUSTICE to you for your CRIMES,” Applejack says, in a voice that would be casual if it didn't hold the sepulchral tones of her empty armor.

“Alright, alright,” the fiend growls, vanishing into a back door. He returns a moment later with a jagged shard of black stone, which he shoves at you. “Is that all, or is there anything else I can...help you with?”

“No,” you say. Seeing the flickers of torment along Fhjull's body brings some sympathy to the fore. "You’ve been helpful, but I'm certain I've forgotten to ask something important, or clarify something I'll only remember when it’s too late for us to do anything about it.”

“Truly?”

“Sure. I doubt we’ll survive, even with all your help. We’ll probably all die in Baator and suffer for all of eternity because of your help.”

A smile appears on the fiend’s lips, something vicious, but also genuine, as the torment about him lightens a fraction. “You’re just saying that to humor an old man.”

“Well, one can hope,” you offer, as you head back up the stairs.

“What was that about?” Rainbow whispered in your ear. “I am not going to let myself get filleted by a bunch of dumb demons.”

“You heard him. He's bound to help people, even though it hurts him. I thought it might please him to think he's helping us into an early grave, even if it isn’t true - hey, we’re here.”

The portal underneath the arm of the skeleton does indeed drag you out of the Outlands to a land covered in red dust kicked up by intermittent winds. Even the air carries a red tint, and the stench of carrion, as dark moons lurk in the sky like vultures. Your every breath is labored and heavy with the deadly heat of the place.

What follows is a horrid trek through a land that holds blood instead of water, reeking with the corpses of men and demons that litter the lands. Occasionally you feel a wave of hatred roll across you, some sign, you suspect, of the war between fiends. At times, you come across parties of baatezu, creatures you cut down with little mercy, to the approval of Applejack.

At last you spy a tower that reaches to the heavens, one that as you approach proves to be an impossibly high pile of skulls, chattering and wailing endlessly. You cannot look at it directly, as the skulls are incandescent with the light of torment. The trek is easier, then, although your breaths come harder with every step, and the air begins to burn your eyes.

Pinkie is trailing at the end of the party, and seems relieved when you take a pause, at least until you draw close.

“PInkie?”

“We can’t go back there,” she wails. “I can’t go back!”

“Back, Pinkie? When were we here?”

But the words are awakening a memory…

_“You worthless skull! You said you knew-”_

_“I didn’t know!” Pinkie kneels before you, her dull coat dirty and bloodied, as she sobs into the red dirt. “I thought I would keep it when you freed me, I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry-”_

_“You will redeem yourself. You will travel with me. You will not_ lie _to me again, and you will give your life for mine, if you must.”_

_“Oh, yes, please, just don’t leave me here-”_

“Who did you betray, Pinkie?”

She is shaking, looking at her hooves, and it is so like the moment in your memory that you step close to her, and your hooves slip through her form. “Pinkie?”

“I’m a bard,” she whispers, “I wanted to look like I did back then. I didn’t want anyone to look at me with pity or disgust in their eyes. I wanted them to be happy to see me. I wanted…”

“Pinkie?” You reach up to brush your hoof across her brow, feeling the touch of her skull instead of the flesh you might have expected. “What is it?”

“I...wanted you to forgive me.”

“I understand, Pinkie. You thought you’d be able to help me-”

She shook her head violently, sending her curls bouncing wildly. “That’s not what I...I offered my help to you because I wanted you - her - to forgive me.”

An icy sensation crawls through your stomach at her words, the recollection of your past self’s warning. “Pinkie, what did you do?”

“I...didn’t know you’d take me seriously. I didn’t think you’d really do it. I _destroyed you!_ ” Her sobs are drawing the attention of the others, and you don’t know how to comfort her.

“Pinkie, _please_. You’re my friend, Pinkie. There’s nothing you could have done that would make me hate you. But I want to know.”

“...I led you to her.”

“What?”

“You came to the Mortuary, and wanted to know how to escape Death. No one would talk to you, because you were talking heresy, but you were so lonely, I thought it couldn’t hurt, and...I told you if you wanted the impossible done, you could always…”

“I could what, Pinkie?” There is steel in your voice, but you won’t feel regret for that, because you need to _know_.

“You could find Nightmare Moon.”

You reel back from Pinkie Pie as if she’d slapped you. You don’t know which has shocked you more: that Pinkie Pie is the reason for all this, or that for all this time, she’s _known_ , and didn’t tell you. You open your mouth, but at the sight of her, quiet and pained and deflated before you, you know what to do.

“Pinkie, what would I have done if you didn’t tell me about Nightmare Moon?”

She looks up, eyes wide and watery. You idly wonder how much is illusion. “What?”

“What would I have done, Pinkie? Would I have given up on my quest? Would I have placidly let myself die?”

“I...I don’t know?”

You step forward and embrace her as best you can. “Pinkie. You aren’t the cause of this. All the blame for this...for all of it...rests with me. You never had anything to feel guilty for. I would have moved the planes to find my solution. You were simply the first person to provide it to me - even if it proved to be a mistake.”

“R-really?”

“Really.” You stand, turning back to the pillar, the distant pile of rotten, decaying heads. “Now let’s end this.”

As you enter the clearing nearest the pillar’s base, the skulls begin chattering in anticipation, howling epithets at you until you stop, just beyond arms’ reach.

YOU AGAIN. IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME, said the skulls, chattering in perfect unison.


	21. Revelation

“Hello-”

SILENCE YOURSELF, NAMELESS ONE. WE SPEAK TO THE ERRANT SKULL, WHO HAS CLOAKED HERSELF WITH ILLUSIONS TO FOOL US.

“He he, that’s not really to fool you, but-”

HAVE YOU COME BACK TO JOIN US, SKULL? HAVE YOU COME TO ACCEPT THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR LIFE’S CHOICES, OR DO YOU STILL DENY JUSTICE?

Applejack takes a step toward Pinkie Pie, but you step between the two of them, growling at the pillar.

“Is her crime the fate she drew down upon me? If so, you have no hold on her! I see no crime, and if her victim will not press it, why will you demand punishment?”

THE ACT HAS EARNED HER PLACE HERE. WHATEVER HAS HAPPENED AFTER IS IMMATERIAL.

“What will you do if she doesn’t go back?”

WE WILL CALL TO BEL, THE LORD OF THIS PLACE, AND BEL WILL COME, AND YOU WILL CONTEND WITH THE LORD OF AVERNUS.

“This is not JUST.”

The skulls fall silent for a shocked moment before they turn as one to Applejack. YOU ARE NOT THE ONE TO DEFINE JUSTICE. THESE ARE THE LAWS OF BAATOR. THESE ARE THE LAWS OF THE PLANES.

“Then it’s not FAIR!” Applejack stepped forward, a growl rattling within her armor. “If you can’t find someone HURT by her crime-”

SHE GAVE THE NAMELESS ONE THE MEANS TO KILL THE PLANES. THIS IS A CRIME AGAINST ALL THINGS.

“To kill-”

You cut Applejack off. “Enough! I have questions for you!”

THEN GIVE US A SERVICE. GIVE US THE SKULL.

“I will find a way to increase your torment a hundredfold if you lay a tooth upon her.”

THEN THE TANAR’RI. WE WILL TORMENT HER WITHIN US UNTIL OUR LORD COMES FOR US.

“Try again.”

THEN KNOWLEDGE. FHJULL FORKED-TONGUE HAS FLED HIS DUTY. WE WOULD FIND HIM AND DELIVER PUNISHMENT.

You take a deep breath, and look to Applejack. You feel she will judge you harshly for any lie, and yet…

“I found him near Curst, hiding within a prison of his own making.”

The skulls gasp and sigh and scream and howl in a tremendous cacophony. THEN ASK YOUR QUESTION, NAMELESS ONE.

“Who am I?”

YOU ARE A MONSTER. YOU ARE THE GREATEST CRIMINAL IN EXISTENCE. THEY SAY YOU CAST SHADOWS, NOT ON THE PLANES, BUT ON ALL EXISTENCE.

“Shadows-”

YES, YOU HAVE SEEN A FACET OF IT, BUT NOT THE _TRUTH_. EVERY TIME YOU DIE, ‘IMMORTAL’, ANOTHER DIES IN YOUR PLACE. THEIR LIFE STOLEN, THEIR WARMTH DENIED THEM, THEY HUNT THE PLANES, GATHERING TO FIND YOU AND STEAL FROM YOU ALL YOU HAVE TAKEN FROM THEM.

“You are a CRIMINAL-”

“But who am I?”

WE HAVE SAID ALREADY. YOUR CRIMES WERE SO GREAT THAT YOU SOUGHT TO HIDE FROM DEATH RATHER THAN FACE YOUR PUNISHMENT. AND NOW YOU ARE A BLOT UPON EXISTENCE, THE DEATH OF THE PLANES. A PRICE MUST BE PAID TO REGAIN YOUR MORTALITY, AND THAT ALONE CAN RETURN YOU TO WHAT YOU SHOULD BE.

Applejack lunges at you, and you duck aside, finding no time to offer to the skulls.

“You LIED to me! You said you sought to set thing RIGHT!”

“I never lied to you, Applejack!” You duck a swing of a metal hoof. “Didn’t you listen to them?”

“They said you’re killing the PLANES! A crime for which justice MUST be done!"

“And I’m trying to fix this! I’m trying to take my mortality back! I’m trying to accept the consequences of my actions! I _want_ justice, Applejack, but you can’t solve this problem with a sword!”

She slows, and stops, the glow behind her visor fixed on you. “You are a CRIMINAL. I can’t TRUST what you say.”

“Maybe you can’t. But...is that what they taught you, Applejack? That you can’t put your faith in anyone?”

“I...NO ONE has ever put their faith in me. I have NEVER had to rely on ANYONE.”

“Or did you never have the chance?” The words seem to shake Applejack, who stills, her voice falling silent. “They don’t see things the way you do, do they? The other Mercykillers call you crazy, don’t they?”

“How do you KNOW?”

“Because I recognize torment when I see it, Applejack. I can see it written on your...armor.” You step closer, and reach out to press a hoof against her chest. “No one deserves to be alone. And maybe all you need to change that is to...try trusting someone. I’ve earned my place in the Lower Planes, Applejack. I don't deny that, not anymore. But fighting me won't get me there. You have to trust me."

She steps back from you, the tension of her joints easing. “Ask the SKULLS what you NEED and then let’s get the HAY out of here.”

You turn to the skulls. “Can you tell me who it is who’s hunting me?”

WE WOULD ANSWER THIS IF WE STILL HAD THE KNOWLEDGE, BUT THOSE THAT KNEW THIS HAVE BEEN PULLED FROM THIS PLACE AND DESTROYED.

“Then tell me how to reach the Fortress of Regrets.”

ANOTHER SERVICE FOR ANOTHER ANSWER. GIVE US THE SKULL.

You glower at them. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked the other answer, but you needed it as much as you need this one. “How about the blood of an immortal?”

IMMORTAL YOU ARE NOT, BUT YOUR BLOOD IS SWEET WITH THE POWER THAT TWISTS THROUGH IT. COME, THEN.

What happens next is...just pain. Knives and dull blades and nails and pins rake across your skin, leaving scars that you know will never heal. Suddenly, something wrenches you back, and you stumble away from the pillar.

“Get AWAY from her!” You wonder if you’re delirious, or if Applejack really was the one to pull you away.

HEH HEH HEH. WE FORGOT OURSELVES FOR A MOMENT.

“Well, give her your ANSWER, skulls.”

THERE IS A PORTAL TO THE FORTRESS, WHICH LIES BEYOND THE REACH OF THE PLANES, EVEN THOUGH IT RESTS WITHIN ONE. YOU POSSESS THE KEY, BUT THE LOCATION WE KNOW NOT.

“What...is the key?” you demand.

REGRET. YOU MUST MARK YOUR FLESH WITH YOUR REGRETS TO ENTER THE FORTRESS.

“I asked you where it was, though.”

ONLY THREE HAVE KNOWN THE WAY TO THE FORTRESS. YOU YOURSELF HAVE KNOWN, BUT DEATH HAS STOLEN YOUR KNOWING OF IT. THE SECOND DWELLS WITHIN, AND HOLDS YOUR MORTALITY CAPTIVE. AND THE THIRD…

“Yes?”

THE THIRD YOU HAVE MET. THE THIRD KNOWS OF YOUR CURSE, AND THE SOLUTION. HE WILL SPEAK ONLY MADNESS AND LIES TO YOU; YOU MUST DESTROY THE CHAOS ABOUT HIM TO FORCE THE TRUTH FROM HIS TONGUE.

“Madness and lies?”

NO REASON TO HIM SAVE THE SOWING OF CHAOS. YOU HAVE MET HIM, THE CHAOS OF SHAPES BOUND TOGETHER BY FLESH, IF NOT BY SPIRIT.

“Wait - you don’t mean-”

THE PRISON OF CURST HELD HIM TIGHT TO KEEP HIS MADNESS FROM INFECTING THE PLANES. HIM WHOSE TRUE NAME CUTS THROUGH THE POWERS AS A COLD WIND. YOU MUST FACE THE POWER OF DISCORD! 

"Discord? I haven't met any creatures named-"

" _Bastard_!" Rainbow howls. "He _lied_ to us!"

"Well," Pinkie allowed, "he never _said_ his name wasn't Discord. Just that we could call him Harmony."

You let the realization burn for a moment, the fury that you'd trusted a creature, only to be betrayed again, but set it aside. You'll meet Ham - _Discord_ \- again, and that'll be the time for anger. Now, you need answers.

“How does he know?”

YOU MET HIM ONCE, AND SPOKE TRULY. HE LISTENED, FOR CHAOS IS SOWED IN THE LITTLE THINGS, THE SECRETS KNOWN THAT NO OTHERS DO. 

“But...why did he send me here?”

HIS MOTIVES ARE HIS ALONE, AND ARE BEYOND DIVINATION. YOU MUST SEEK HIM YOURSELF.

"Very well." You glare at them once more. "And there is a portal from this place, back to the Outlands. Where is it?"

THE PRICE FOR THIS ANSWER IS THE LOST SKULL. SHE MAY NOT LEAVE HERE.

“Are you certain? What right do you, who have, in death, allowed yourself to be turned into tools or further torment, to demand anything? Pinkie crawled her way out to find some semblance of forgiveness, while you have _wallowed_ in your miseries! Your deaths have only multiplied the torments you caused in life. You have no _power_ over her here, for she is not the creature that left you, all that time ago.”

STILL-

"You have two choices," you growl. "You can tell me the way out, and I will leave you. Or you can call Bel, the master of Avernus, to this place, and watch as I tear this plane down around your ears."

...WE WILL TELL YOU THE WAY OUT.

You stalk through the paths of Baator, fueled by the fact that you are close, that the end is drawing near quickly, and all you must do is get back to Discord and beat the answers out of him. You hear whispering behind you along the way, punctuated by Applejack's irregular speech. 

"-make SENSE." More whispering, and you feel a flutter of something in your chest. No one who met your prior incarnations seems to recognize the pony you are now; having seen the reflections of their thoughts, it is a buoying sensation.

You are not certain how long it is before you return to Fhjull’s, but when you slump to the ground in his home, he is waiting for you, chuckling at the sight of your weariness. “And how was your journey to the Pillar of Skulls?”

“Well, it depends. Are you asking about how they wanted to drag Pinkie back in there and I had to threaten them to keep her out? Or about how I had to talk Applejack into not stabbing me right then and there for being an abomination? Or about how _Discord_ , who was the one who _sent_ me here, is the one who knows where the Fortress of Regrets is?”

“Discord? Discord?” Fhjull begins to laugh, something that quickly descends into a howling, hiccoughing laugh. “Discord sent you? The piking bastard! Oh, that we could have had him among our ranks!”

“What’s wrong?”

Fhjull’s face hardens. “He wanted to answer an ancient riddle, and needed a subject to try it on. You see, he had a bet, of sorts, with another little fiendling, and wanted to prove he could use his magic to make a fiend into a righteous man.

“His magic is mad and shifting, and nothing I possess could protect me from him. But I showed him, I did. Proved him wrong, and earned his forfeit.” Fhjull’s mouth twists up in a hideous grin. “I showed him that no matter how powerful you are, magic cannot change one’s nature.”

You shiver at the words, because who other than Nightmare Moon would have been interested in changing a fiend's nature? And why else than because of you? The skulls accused you of killing the planes, and seeing the echoes of your choices on others' lives, you believe them.

“Well, it might come that I need to kill him,” you reply. “The Pillar told me words alone might not be enough to get the answer I need out of him.”

Fhjull’s smile grows wider. “Well, then maybe I could offer a little...unsolicited...charity.” He leans close and his next words are whispered in your ear. “The arse-end of my home’s ceiling contains a portal to Curst. Only a fiend can open it, so you’ll have an easy time of it. And if you ever find a way to kill that bastard, WHICH YOU SHOULDN’T DO TO THE HANDSOME DEVIL, damn, damn, well, people who do favors for baatezu sometimes get presents.”

“Sorry we didn’t get ourselves killed in Baator,” you say. “Good luck with...well, whatever you get up to when you're alone.”

When you step back into Curst...something is wrong.

It’s actually not hard to figure out after a moment’s thought. The edges of the city are ruined and wrecked, the stone and wood of the structures sheared through. “What-”

“Oh dear,” Fluttershy whimpers.

“It’s shifted,” Pinkie says in awe. “Something dragged it straight through to Carceri.”

“Discord?”

“Oh, yes, certainly,” Rarity replies. “We have a word for people like him back in the Court of Ill Winds.”

“Yeah?”

“ _Corpse_ ,” she hisses. She stalks through the empty desert where Curst once stood, until you reach the strange four-way arch you had passed in your earlier foray. The air sparks and opens as she approaches it, and then opens into a horror. Grey clouds edged with poisonous red paint the sky, and on the ground, blood-red mist conceals everything but the silhouettes dancing within the darkness.

The light of the sky is scarlet, staining everything it touches, illuminated by daggers of lightning, which reveals, in those split-seconds, carnage.

Shapes rush through the darkness, and you catch sight of guards fighting against nightmarish beasts. Scaled creatures tear at the flesh of people, their acidic spittle burning flesh as the ground spits up noxious fumes. People scream out in desperation at the violence, struggling against the madness of the plane now eating away at the order of their home.

To you alone is the fury of torment visible in the air, the poisonous light hurting your eyes. And it fills you with something beyond anger, beyond madness, into a moment of crystal clarity.

_This is wrong. No one should have to suffer this_.

You remember the moment in the prison when you touched chaos and used it to snap Discord’s bonds. You remember when you caused life to blossom within Canterlot. Belief is power. Faith is strength.

You close your eyes and remember the people you helped in your last visit to Curst, the woman saved from the predations of corrupted men, the healing of wounds within a family, the protection of the innocent, and the shifting of a way of life beyond treachery. Discord has done something to this, and you _will not allow it_. These people are good, in their hearts, or _could be_ , and you will not let a momentary slip to condemn them all.

“What in the powers’ names are you doing?”

Your focus slips at Har - _Discord’s_ \- voice. He is sitting on a long couch decorated with little pink elephants, lounging as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.


	22. What Fun is There in Making Sense?

“What are you doing?” you demand. “These people are suffering!”

“Are they?” He stretches his head up, taking a peek at the carnage beyond. “I suppose, if you don’t understand Carceri, it might be a little shocking.”

“Why did you do this?”

“I am frankly wounded that you accuse me of being at fault here. Although, it’s always entertaining to see a border town dragged into its plane, see the people really understand what their philosophy means for them. It’s hilarious when the good-aligned towns find just how uncompromising their alignment really is, it really is.”

“Oh, come on, you didn’t just do this because it was amusing, did you?”

DIscord shrugs. “It’s possible. I do a lot of things because they amuse me. Mind, there are...probably other reasons.”

“Why did you lie to me?”

“Lie? Me? I am shocked at the accusation.”

“You sent me to Fhjull, when you’re the one who knows where I need to go!”

“Ah!” Discord moves sinuously from his chair to just in front of you, one taloned finger raised in warning. “Did I tell you I didn’t know? Did I tell you Fhjull would tell you where to find your lost mortality? It’s not my fault you assumed I’d told the whole truth. I don’t have time to tell the whole truth, and, frankly, you don’t have any right to demand it. The worst criminal in the planes-”

“We’ve been over that already,” you snap. You’re beginning to get a headache. “Look, what do you need these people in Carceri for?”

“Need? Oh, no reason, probably. But I had a little agreement going, and this should be enough to fulfill my end.”

“An agreement?”

“The problem with chaos is that it’s very hard to make an army of it. And I needed an army. Or, well, you know, wanted one.” He grins. “The Celestials don’t take you seriously when you try to assault Heaven all by your lonesome.”

“You want to attack...Heaven?”

“Well, I haven’t picked out which of the Upper Planes I want to attack yet, but, yes. Broadly.”

“Why?”

“Why? Didn’t old Nightmare Moon tell you I’m a creature beyond all reason? Maybe I think things need a little shaking-up. The Blood War’s a terrible bore. Nothing’s changed, you know, in absolute ages. And let’s not talk about how everything in the Planes is lined up all in little circles.”

You glare at Discord. “So you’re damning all these people because you’re _bored_?”

“Oh, please, don’t act like I threw babies to the wolves. This is Curst, a town of traitors. They’re all bound to end up in a place like this eventually.”

“But what sort of choice did they have, if they lived here? What sort of life is it to live, surrounded by treachery? Why does there need to be a border town anyway? Why does a new one have to replace Curst?”

“Because that’s the way the planes are.”

“Well, it’s a stupid way to run things!”

One of Discord’s white eyebrows raises, up above the top of his head. “Is it? You’re benefitting quite a lot from the way things are run.”

“I’m killing the planes. That’s not good for anyone.”

“There are a couple of liches who wouldn’t mind. But you don’t have enough power to change the planes. _I_ don’t have the power to change the planes.”

“Really?” You push him out of your personal space and fix him with a gaze as cool and commanding as you can manage. “I tricked Nightmare Moon into breaking the rules to make me live forever. I’ve spent lifetimes struggling my way back to undo it. I’ve learned about belief, and will, and I dare you to find someone with more will than me.”

“Hm.” Discord peers around you at the city behind you. A pained scream echoes behind you. “Well, let’s see.”

“What?”

“Show me you have the will to change the planes. Bring Curst back from Carceri. Right here. Right now.”

Bring it back to the edge of the Borderlands, always in danger of falling through to Carceri?

No way.

You close your eyes and focus, and now, you are no longer simply trying to wrench Curst back to its place in the Borderlands. You reach out to the memory of the people in Curst, and focus on the belief that they are good. Not that they can be, but that they are. That there is enough good in them that this place will never again risk damnation for the sake of a slip in belief.

That something like this will _never happen again_.

You have no way to describe what happens next. The ground rumbles underneath your feet, but you also feel as if the sky is falling away from you. There is the sense of incredible movement, but also of something settling in place. The air flashes between scents of blood, ash, sulfur, grass, flowers, silver, iron, lightning; as the sky flashes between every color of the rainbow, pausing briefly on a shade that you can only describe as fluorescent greenish-yellow purple.

And then everything slams sideways and snaps into place. The sky is blue and calm, and the madness of the city replaced by a moment of hopeful silence. Discord’s eyes are pinpricks of red in seas of sickly yellow, and his jaw has fallen open.

“There,” you growl at him. “If all you care about is a good show, Discord, tell me where to find the Fortress of Regrets, and just watch what I do next.”

“I…”

“What, did I surprise you?”

“I…”

“Speak up, Discord.”

He shakes his head, offering you a sly grin, although there is something a little uncertain about it, almost wary. “The portal will bring you full circle, from your death to your life and death again. It is in the torus city, within a tomb manned by the living, where the dead cannot rest.”

“The portal’s in the _Mortuary_?”

“Of course. Where else would you find a portal to the Negative Energy Plane? Oh.” Discord must notice your frozen expression, because he pokes your cheek with his talon. “Oh, don’t worry. You’re not the first person this sort of thing has happened to. Of course, the key’s an important part, too. I bet the Pillar of Skulls wasn’t very helpful.”

“It said the key was regret marking my flesh.”

“Oh, yes. Write something you regret on your flesh. Maybe you can regret not being nicer to me.”

“Just keep talking.”

“You’ve got to write it in blood with your left hoof. And throw it into the portal, and boom.”

“It will take me to the Fortress?”

“Oh, yes.”

“How do you know this?”

Discord sighs. “I found the Fortress and spoke to its master. If you want to go back to Canterlot, there’s a portal in a home just that way; the blood on your hands is enough to take you home.”

You shake you head. “No. You’ve been there. You’ve met its master. What can I expect there?”

Discord’s smile takes a predatory edge. “You’ve learned what you are. Every time you die, someone dies in your place. They become shadows, tormented by the loss of their life. Where do you think they end up?”

...Oh.

You can see the realization sweep across your companions, the worry and terror as they realize what you will face inside.

“And what about its master?”

He smirks. “She knows more about you than any creature who has ever lived. She has more power than you have ever possessed, in any life. And I promise you, she will not return your mortality to you, not so long as she exists. She will kill you and all who accompany you.”

He pauses, looking at you with a tilted head and curious eyes and then adds, “And then she will try to kill me.”

“Wait - what?”

“This wasn’t just a vacation, you know. I could have...probably broken out of there any time I wanted. And then you came along, and...well, I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.”

You shake your head, trying to make some sense of Discord. “If you’re damned...why didn’t you just kill me?”

“Well, if I wanted to die, that’d be the quickest way to do it,” he replies, drawing a line across his neck that detaches his head, sending it bouncing in a circle around his feet. “But I thought, well, if I send you along, and you kill her, maybe you’ll have a little care for a poor old draconequus. And if she kills you...maybe I’ll have a bit of a head start to hide.

“Now get going. I’ve got to see if any of my boltholes might work, and you’ve got a life to get back.” He snorts and chuckles, and pushes you along toward the house he pointed out earlier.

You start moving but pause, looking back at Applejack. She is looking back at Discord, and you can almost feel her ponderous thoughts.

“Do you want to kill him?”

“Wouldn’t it be just?”

“Why are you asking me that? I thought you were the expert on justice.”

“You’re stronger than me. Your will is...more. You’re pursuing justice against...yourself. I don’t know…” She trails off.

“You would,” you say. “You waited in that prison for...years. I think you’d know if you’d crossed a line. And...maybe we have bigger problems to worry about right now.”

She nods, and follows you into the portal to the Hive.

Applejack pauses, and looks to you. You know the unspoken question.

“Come on, girls, let’s go see Granny.”

You don’t find her near the Smouldering Corpse Bar, but Applejack seems to know where to go next. The house is small, apparently having been reduced to make room for the tiny apple orchard planted around it. And inside, Granny rests on a narrow cot. Her coat is pale and sweaty, and when she sees Applejack’s armor, smiles.

“Is that you, child?”

“Granny Smith.” The voice has none of the iron of the Mercykiller, just the soft sorrow of watching a loved one on her deathbed.

“Hello.”

“What’s...wrong?”

Granny looks over at you, her expression sad. “A face...phase am I, of another. Death has come for her, and the phases are...fading.”

“No,” you whisper. “No. You said belief can shape the planes. If we believe in you-”

Granny shakes her head. “Your belief is needed for something else, child.” She glances over at Rarity. “Too much to do for you to worry about an old lady. But...if you can give the old master of the Fortress of Regrets a kick for me, it’d do a wonder for my restless spirit.”

“I’ll kick her into next week,” Applejack vows.

“Thanks, sweetie. Now skedaddle, I’ve got some things to say to my granddaughter.”

You end up at the bar, where you find Candrian. He waves you over.

“Hello.”

“How’ve the planes been treating you?”

You pause, considering the answer, but the pause seems answer enough, because he laughs. “The planes never change, they say. Although...have you heard the rumors?”

“What rumors?”

He leans close. “People have been saying...the border towns...the portal towns...have vanished.”

Your stomach plummets. “Vanished?”

“And that the portals they were centered around have been peeled off the planes themselves. Some people are saying the Lady was trying to send a message to the border towns, but it’s not like her. The Lady prefers proclamations etched in stone to go along with her messages."

You let him prattle on, and remain silent as you head to the exist of the bar. You pause when you catch sight of Trixie. Sunburst had all but confirmed what you suspected, that her life crossed yours, and it led her, inexorably, to this end. You have a jug of ever-flowing water - enough, you suspect, to put out that flame.

But at the same time...memories crawl through your mind, of a cruel master teaching a foal how to lash out at the planes, to destroy with every touch…

You think everyone's better off with Trixie right where she is.

So you turn away and return to Applejack’s home. You desperately hope none of your friends ask you about Candrian’s interest.

Remembering the calm in the moments after you'd wrenched Curst from Carceri, you doubt they had truly vanished. But at the same time, you _know_ they are no longer portal towns, and that there will never again be such a thing as a settlement influenced by the power of nearby planes.

Seeing the torment of Curst dragged into Carceri, you wished that nothing ‘like that’ would ever happen again. You don’t think you really understood what you’d meant.

Or maybe you did. Discord said that it was almost as bad when good-aligned portal towns slipped over. And you don’t like the thought of people growing up influenced by a place reaching out to make them more like it. 

What worries you more is that anyone might question how you had the power to sever the portal towns from their nearby planes. What worries you most is that you don’t have an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You see, Granny Smith is voiced by Tabitha St Germain...


	23. The Fortress of Regrets

Iggy stares as you enter the Mortuary. “If I saw you again, I expected it to be on our slabs again,” he says.

“I don’t intend to leave this time,” you reply. “I’ve found the way to True Death.”

He coughs, chuckling around it. “Well, that makes two of us.”

“I have one last question for you, Iggy. What do you know of the Fortress of Regrets?”

His breath sucks in, and he shakes his head. “Nothing good. It is a twisted place within the seas of the Negative Energy Plane, and that shadows fill it. There are those who thought to assault the place, centuries ago, and nothing was seen of them again. Some suggest it is the home of a monstrous fiend, lich, or demi-god, but none have returned from it to speak of it.”

“I...see. Thank you.”

As you walk to the place where you first woke, Pinkie Pie steps next to you. “Um, I don’t know if this is the best time, I...you know Rainbow and I went with you before. I...remember we came here before. I didn’t know what it was!” She raises a hoof to hold off your furious response. “You didn’t tell us things, back then. You were…”

“You were like a changeling, cruel and controlling and demanding we love you anyway,” Rainbow says. “We came to the Mortuary and went to a place full of shadows. We were all separated and...I don’t know what happened to any of you. I barely remember how I escaped.”

You nod, and as you reach the chamber, sit down, and motion the others to do so. “Give me the circle, Rainbow Dash.”

She wordlessly hands it over, and you both know it was no command, but a request between friends. You stare at it and open the first circle. The second. The third. The fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh. And then you see the catches that allow you to open the eighth circle of Pansy.

“ _Know_ that a mind divided divides the man. The will and the hand must be as one. In _knowing_ the self, one becomes strong.

“ _Know_ that if you _know_ a course of action to be true in your heart, do not betray it because the path leads to hardship. _Know_ that without suffering, the Rising would have never been, and the People would never have come to _know_ themselves.

“ _Know_ that there is nothing in all the Worlds that can stand against unity. When all _know_ a single purpose, when all hands are guided by one will, and all act with the same intent, the Planes themselves may be moved.

“A divided mind is one that does not _know_ itself. When it is divided, it cleaves the body in two. When one has a single purpose, the body is strengthened. In _knowing_ the self, grow strong.”

No one speaks as you finish reading the words. The meaning is clear, and you rise as one. You pace the room silently, holding your regrets in your mind, until you feel a deathly chill. You tear a strip of flesh from your right leg, and, messily, write the words upon it.

_I regret the multiplication of my suffering across the Planes, that my acts have forced my pain onto countless others._

A portal opens before you, and you look back at your companions, your friends.

“I _know_ we will prevail today.”

And you step into the portal, trusting the others to follow after you.

What strikes you first, after the darkness, is the chill, not only physical, but spiritual, as if the air seeks to draw out your life, as well as your warmth. The air stinks, not of decay, but of dust and death. And as your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can see the shades within it, and when you look up, see true blackness, the darkness of an eternal void. This is death and entropy, the place where you will bring an end to all this.

The building in which you stand is the Fortress of Regrets, and its making is of regret. You pass art and other crafts half-made and forgotten, still-born dreams and hopes, and the sorrow and tears that stain everything.

And then a voice speaks through the darkness.

“No. You should not be here.”

You turn, and find a shadowy figure of blue and violet, a dragon curling around your form.

“Spike.”

“You’re in great danger!” he insists. “If you stay here, you’ll die!”

You shake your head. “No, I’m immortal, Spike, remember?”

“No. The power that preserves you is a magic that searches the planes for a life to take in your place. But this place is cut off from the planes. There is no living thing here to slay instead of you.”

Your stomach knots and your blood runs cold. “But there is.”

“What?”

“I brought...others with me.”

“Then they are in as much danger as you! Not only will the shadows hunt them, will the _Master_ of this place hunt them, if you die-”

You close your eyes, wondering now if this has been some elaborate trap by your practical side, to encourage you to bring others with you, to act a shield against your enemy.

“I have to go on, Spike. I have to find them.”

“I know,” he whispers. “You are a different mare than I knew before. All I know...you spoke of a room of clocks, which you said were your way through…”

“Thank you, Spike.” You pull him close and press a kiss against his ghostly forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”

You step through into another chamber, and see that it is filled with a flood of shadows. They turn, as one will, to face you, and for a moment, your resolve shakes.

No.

Not one purpose. Not one will. The fractured memories of thousands of broken lives. No purpose but pain, but torment, but you are an _end_ to that. You bolt through the shadows, looking desperately for an exit. You spy a door set with a heavy bolt, and when you slip through, slam it behind you, a bolt against the shadows. You sigh, and take a look around the room. No clocks.

It takes hours of wandering and running before you find a room with a large clock, melted to the floor and bent and twisted, and with a message scratched into the back.

_Doors are lies. Take the cannons instead_.

You look to the right, where a thing like a cannon sits next to a wall. You step closer, and find handles set into its surface, and scratch marks that suggest of a proper configuration…

Once you find the correct one, it becomes just a matter of time before you find your friends, and your enemy.


	24. Don't Fear the Reaper

Applejack marched with firm purpose through the darkened halls. She had senses that allowed her to hunt her prey through darkness, ones honed to the sins and guilt in the hearts of those against whom Justice raged.

The Fortress, however, was filled with the echoes of regrets, the petty sins of the shadows and the greater sin that shaped this place from the stuff of darkness. She could not find her way, could not think where her friends might be-

WHY DO YOU HUNT ME, EMPTY SHELL?

Something approached her, something worse than any sin she had witnessed, something against which the Planes themselves raged.

“You’re a monster.”

YOU FORGET YOURSELF. THE CRIME IS NOT MINE. IT IS THE ONE YOU CALL FRIEND. SHE HAS BROUGHT YOU HERE TO DESTROY ME, AND TO TURN HER DARK WILL TO THE PLANES.

“No. I TRUST her.”

WHAT REASON HAS SHE GIVEN YOU? YOU KNOW SHE IS THE ONE WHO IMPRISONED YOU. SHE IS THE ONE YOU HUNTED.

“She had no NEED to reunite me with my grandmother. She had no NEED to tell me of her sins.”

YOU MAY LEAVE, IF YOU DESIRE IT. I WOULD LET YOU GO. YOU COULD RETURN TO YOUR MISSION, TO BRING JUSTICE TO THE PLANES.

“I am. I have come to help her DIE.”

SO BE IT.

???

Fluttershy swayed on her feet, and the shadows surrounding her swayed, as well. She wasn’t certain how long she had stood here, trying to hold back the shadows with her force of will. She...wasn’t sure how long she could hold it up.

THE TANAR’RI. HOW LONG DO YOU INTEND TO KEEP UP THIS CHARADE?

“I’m going to stay here...until she doesn’t need me anymore.”

WHY? BECAUSE SHE LET YOU TOUCH HER? DO YOU BELIEVE THAT WAS AN ACT OF KINDNESS? SHE STOLE A LIFE TO GIVE YOU THAT MOMENT OF COMFORTI

“I know. It was a...bad decision, but her heart was in the right place.” Fluttershy looked up, and met the eyes of her tormentor.

STILL...YOU ARE AN INTERESTING THING. A SUCCUBUS THAT SEEKS TO SPREAD PEACE INSTEAD OF DEATH. I COULD ALLOW YOU TO LEAVE, UNMOLESTED.

“You could. I probably wouldn’t...take you up on it. She needs us.”

I WILL NOT OFFER AGAIN.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

As her tormentor drew near, Fluttershy met its gaze, and held it. There was a moment of tension, of incredible pressure coming to bear. She grit her teeth, maintaining the focus of staring at it.

Of course, to stare at her tormentor, she had to take her eyes off of the shadows…

???

Rarity slipped past another pack of shadows into another huge room, one full of half-finished dresses abandoned on their mannequins, smeared with dust and rotting away, the death of creativity made manifest.

She smiled softly to herself at the fact that all for being of shadows, the beasts that roamed these halls were remarkably unobservant. Perhaps she would be able to find her companion after all-

I AM CERTAIN YOU WERE WARNED MORE ABOUT THE MASTER OF THESE HALLS THAN OF THE SHADOWS THAT INHABIT IT.

She froze at the words, something weighty and emotionless and so tantalizingly familiar…

She turned, and managed to keep her composure at the sight of her opponent.

“Well, you seemed the type to hide away in your throne room while the heroes fought their way past your defenses. My apologies for underestimating you.”

NONE TAKEN. IT IS ALL BUT IMPOSSIBLE TO AVOID UNDERESTIMATING ME. BUT HERE I AM PRATTLING ON. YOU HAVE NO NEED TO BE HERE.

Rarity shrugged, unwilling to commit to a position, a useful tactic in verbal combat. “I chose to, nonetheless.”

YOU OWE HER NOTHING. YOU OWE HER LESS THAN NOTHING; HER TREACHERY DOOMED YOUR HUSBAND, RUINED YOUR LIFE.

“That’s certainly one way of looking at it,” Rarity allowed. “Regardless, she needed help, and I was the best suited to offer it.”

SUCH SELFLESSNESS. SUCH GENEROSITY.

Rarity was certain that her adversary intended the words to sound sarcastic, but it seemed out of practice talking to anyone.

“Well, one does try.”

I WOULD OFFER YOU A GIFT TO REWARD YOUR SELFLESSNESS. I WILL ALLOW YOU TO LEAVE THIS PLACE, AND SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE IN SAFETY FROM ME.

Rarity frowned and stepped delicately around the master of the Fortress of Regrets. “I must, sadly, decline. But if I may delve to the subject of manners: the withholding of violence is not a gift. It is a basic decency of which I suspect you are incapable.”

TRUE.

???

Rainbow Dash’s blade cut through another shadow as she dashed through these halls. She remembered the faltering of her faith the last time she entered this place, dragged by the chains she’d made by foolishly giving her life to the one who’d saved it…

But now, buoyed by their common purpose, by the love shared between the small group, she moved as fast as lightning, her wings as sharp as Death’s own scythe.

Shadows fell before her like wheat before a thresher, evaporating into wisps of nothingness at her touch, as she searched the endless halls of the Fortress, certain that if she looked hard enough, she would find-

DO YOU HOPE TO OUTRUN THEM?

Something was keeping pace with Rainbow, something that flew on wings of starlight. She pushed herself a little harder, pulling ahead of it.

WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? SHE STOLE YOUR FREEDOM. SHE STOLE ALL THAT MAKES YOU A PEGASUS. YOU CAN HAVE NO LOVE FOR HER.

“We...ll, you might be right about that. But you might also be dead wrong.”

Rainbow struck at the creature flying just behind her, then dashed around a column into a hallway that seemed to stretch on to infinity. She was rewarded by a distant scream and a crash.

A moment later, however, it had caught up with her.

YOU GAVE YOUR WORD TO ANOTHER PERSON. YOU DO NOT OWE HER YOUR LOYALTY.

Rainbow felt an eyebrow twitch, a flicker of fury building in her breast. “That just proves you're not nearly as smart as you think you are.”

ENLIGHTEN ME.

“Nuh-uh.” Rainbow soared up along the curve of the ceiling of a room that kings would have fought over to have their thrones in. “I _know_ what I feel. I _know_ myself. And I have no desire for you to _know_ me.”

IT WOULD BE POINTLESS FOR ME TO SUGGEST YOU LEAVE THIS PLACE WITHOUT HER.

“Well, at least you’re bright enough to get that.” Rainbow Dash began pumping her wings, pushing through into the same almost endless corridor.

THEN I AM AFRAID-

Knowing that the master of the Fortress of Regrets would kill her, that there was nothing left to the life she had long ago pledged to the mare who even now wandered, lost, in this place, Rainbow Dash put her whole spirit, her whole will, into one last sacrifice.

In high-magic environments, light slows to a little faster than the speed of sound. In the dead space of the Negative Energy Plane, there is little air to resist a creature reaching that speed. And when a creature moves faster than light where there is enough magic for there to be _eight_ shades to the rainbow, instead of seven…

BOOM, baby.

???

Pinkie Pie had been waiting for some time, when the entire Fortress shook, even its ancient foundations of the regrets of gods cracking under the forces that reverberated through it. A distant scream rang through the halls, one of pain and fury, and Pinkie Pie smiled.

People wondered why Pinkie smiled so much. She had so many reasons to give them, but never told them the truest, the oldest one.

When you’re just a skull, you can’t really help it.

She let the illusions about her fall, knowing that she was beyond any illusions here. Her...friend knew her true form, and her enemy did, too. And maybe, if she were clever, she could surprise the master of this place, the way she was certain someone else just had.

And speaking of illusions, she had none about how this was going to end. The sort of person who lived in a castle filled with shadows in the middle of a plane that consumed every living thing that entered it was not going to let anyone get close to her unless she had to.

With nary a sound, the master of the Fortress of Regrets appeared.

Pinkie stared at the creature for a single moment and began to laugh.

WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT?

Pinkie shuddered and shook and kept laughing, rolling over in the air where she had long learned to secure herself. Had she still been a pony, she would have been on her back, unable to breathe from the intensity of the laughter.

STOP IT. STOP _LAUGHING AT ME!_

“I can’t - can’t - can’t-” Pinkie gasped, her whole body shuddering. In all the traveling, in all the trials and adventures, she hadn’t imagined that _this_ would be the creature who had stolen her friend’s mortality, who kept it captive and sought to kill her from worlds away. The absolute absurdity of it rocked her to the core, as did the heresy she had held with her for centuries.

Life isn’t painful. Life is funny, so bucking funny in all its twists and ironies that to look at it in any way other than a grand party is lying to yourself. Torment? That might exist, but Fate ensured that the mare Pinkie had doomed to immortality had come to free her from the Pillar of Skulls, that she’d come full circle back to Rainbow Dash, and found the end of her journey where it had began.

Fate had made it so that _this_ was the final enemy her friend would face, the one who wished for nothing but for her to be forever separated from her mortality, to forget such a thing even existed…

YOU WOULD DARE MOCK ME? LAUGH AT ME? WILL YOU STILL LAUGH WHEN YOU DIE?

That was the problem with some people. They just didn’t get the joke.

???

You stumble from the portal made by another cannon, wondering why every trip seems to sap your strength. A treacherous suggestion worms at your mind, but you ignore it. This place is filled with shadows, and the plane itself steals strength and life. You can find no fitting place for someone to hide from an immortal.

At last, you come to an arch lined with obsidian spikes, and a portal that opens as you draw near. No more doors, you think muzzily, just another portal.

You slip through, and the dead air gives way to a far more natural chill. Green tiles coat the floor beneath you, and no twisted regrets line the hall, only statues of grim unicorns looking down at you. You walk past the first several before you realize what they are.

Subtly different, but still the same. They are images of you, every incarnation that died and stole another’s life, offering their scorn for any who would walk this hall. You hurry, trying to escape from their dead stone eyes. The path curves inward, drawing you to a chamber before which stands a statue that bears your every scar, your very expression. You pause to stare at her, and wonder what it means that the path ends here. Is this a prophecy, a hope, a warning?

Inside is a crystal, massive and glowing green, filling the room with a sickly light. You reach out to the crystal, wondering if this, at last, is the end of your quest.

The fortress is rocked with an explosion that sends you stumbling to the side, and then the air is rent with the roaring of flames, of a fire so great that nothing, no power or magic, can extinguish it. A desperate howl rises above the roaring, and then the air before you opens, revealing a place of nothing but flame, through which drifts the form of a blackened, smouldering unicorn, its eyes as fiery as its burning coat.

“Greetings,” she hisses. “All your forgotten disciples you have gathered to you, except for the Poor and Pitiful Trixie. One wonders if it was a mistake, or if you had abandoned her to her fate, to hope her spirit would burn out in time.”

Though the memories had flickered through your mind, the sorceress' words give you pause. "Disciple…?"

Her grin is terrible to behold, cracked flesh revealing the fires that burn within her. “Oh, yes. Forgotten, but I will make sure you never forget. I will burn you to _ash_ , so there is nothing left to live, and then burn the Planes!”


	25. Enemies Three...And Trixie

“I forgot everything!” you snap, as Trixie summons a wall of flames that encircles the room, ensuring no escape. “How should I remember you?”

“Trixie never forgot you, Master _Yemeth_ ,” she howls. “Even as they thrust the flames into Trixie’s spirit, burning the flesh that had so long yearned for it, Trixie never forgot. And then I find you had forgotten your poor _supplicant_. The master of this place told me, how you walked the planes, offering comfort to every creature you found, _except for Trixie!_ ” Your skin sears as you dodge a jet of flames that she spits in your direction. 

"Fine, so you can join the list of creatures who want me dead, but burning the planes?"

“Maybe your teaching twisted Trixie into something unnatural. Perhaps she had a poor childhood. Perhaps she suffers from uncontrollable madness. But...there’s a point where it stops mattering. Because nothing you can say will stop this.”

You duck behind the green crystal as a wave of Trixie’s hoof sends flames peppering the floor like a volley of arrows. You know it would be unwise to tell Trixie you _had_ remembered, pieced together enough to decide loosing her on the planes would be a mistake, a decision apparently borne out by the facts. But once safe, you pause, trying to find some means of escape. Maybe…

You stand and step back into the open. “Fine. Go ahead.”

“You won’t - wait, what?”

“I want to die, Trixie. That’s the point of this quest, to bring an end to the lies and torment I’ve spread across the planes. If you can end me...do it.”

“Kill...you?” She seems shaken by how this conversation is getting away from her, which means you’ve definitely got a few moments, at least.

“That’s what you want.”

“Yes, but…” She trots a little closer. “You’re not supposed to be happy about it.”

“I envy you, you know.”

“Envy? Why - I mean, of course you would envy the Great and Powerful Trixie her mastery over the art of destruction!”

“Destruction?”

“The powers of fire!”

“And that’s...what you do with it? Destroy?”

“What else is there to do with fire?” she demands. Flames flicker along her hooves, and you realize Trixie is not the model of patience.

But maybe it was only the way she was taught. You are struck by the urge to find Yemeth and slap her across the face - a strange urge, given that she is, for all intents and purposes, you.

“It warms. It cleanses. The sun is a flame that gives life to the earth. It is _light_.”

Trixie takes a step away from you, and when she speaks, her voice wavers. “All they want to do is _extinguish_ fire, to _kill_ Trixie. I embrace the flame because it _burns_ …”

“Where would we be without fire to cook our food, without flame to forge our steel?” you demand. “How can you be the master of flame if you don’t _know_ that?”

“I _am_ fire!” she roars. “I am light! I am warmth and life and the flames that sear the heavens! I consume the impure and perfect alike! I am everything that fire is!”

“And so you came to this place of shadows to burn it?”

Trixie’s breaths are heavy, and they sound loudly in the moments after your demand. “Perhaps...not.”

“The words of my past selves are lies. They are the words of someone who did not _know_ herself. But I do, and I _know_ the master of this place. Were you brought here so you could burn the planes, or so that the shadows could snuff you out like a candle?”

“Snuff out the Great and Powerful _Trixie_? All the mages of the Hive stood no chance.”

"I think, facing such a dangerous pony as you, they thought anything might be worth a shot."

She falls silent again.

“Look, would you...maybe like to help me?”

“No,” Trixie says, but the words lack...heat. “You are right. I would not face the master of this place, not until I know the _light_ of fire, the _cleansing_ of fire. But...perhaps this is the place to try.”

“What?”

A grin, as fanatical as the one you saw when she first appeared, flashes onto Trixie’s face. “You say I was brought here to let the shadows consume my warmth. Perhaps I will show the master of this place that fire _banishes_ shadows." She drifts from the ground into the air. “Farewell, Yemeth.” She moves as if to leave, but then pauses. “Although...may I ask one question?”

“I can’t promise I can answer it.”

“What has changed-”

"The nature of a mare?" You shake your head. “I don’t have that answer.”

As Trixie leaves, you step up to the crystal, and reach out a hoof.

The air around you seems to freeze, or you freeze into place, and a soul-searing agony rises from your bones into your very flesh, as if you are being torn apart, torn into parts-

When awareness returns, you are on your knees, set before a trio of creatures. You look up at them, and they are-

They are you.

One’s coat is healthy and unmarred, save for the mark of Torment upon her flank. The other two are far more like you, except for their gazes. One’s eyes dart endlessly around her, as if searching for danger, and the other stares at you coolly, as if you are unworthy of even a moment of your time. These two you know. These two you have seen or spoken to, and _know_ their hearts.

“What...where are we?”

The healthy one gives you a mild smile. “We cannot be certain, save that we seem to be trapped...and of four minds.”

“You thieves have come to me again, to steal my body. I’m ready, this time,” the paranoid one mutters. Her hooves seem sharpened to a wicked edge, and you climb slowly to your hooves, wishing to put some distance between you and her.

“Oh, shut up,” the uncaring, practical one snaps. “We’re all trapped here together, for the moment at least.”

With a shock, you look to the paranoid one. “Is this one of your traps?”

She shakes her head, spittle flying from her mouth as she snarls. “No, body-theives there are, and now mind-thieves taking the magic I made, I made for myself!” She scratches at the earth furiously, and you do take a step away.

“Ignore her,” the practical one says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll deal with her in a few minutes.”

You take a step away from the practical one, too. “After you deal with me, right?”

She gives you a wide, insincere smile. “It’s possible.”

“What do you plan to do to me?”

She shrugs. “Absorb your consciousness into mine and go on to defeat the master of this place.”

“You failed before,” you reply.

“I...never intended to defeat the master back then. And anyway, I hadn’t realized we’d be separated.”

“Sounds like you didn’t think that one through.”

“I did! I was going to leave the dragon there, and let him bring back what he saw there-” She reels from your slap, and when she looks back up at you, her eyes are wide and...yes, surprised. “What was that for?”

“You killed Spike and left him here to be your _spy_?”

She cracks her neck, carefully, as if it is a habit, but you know she’s making sure you didn’t hurt her. “Come now, how else would I learn about this place? The Doomguard sent a patrol once, and there wasn’t a man left to tell the tale.”

“I presume you tried divination and found it didn’t work. So I guess the only other way would be to find someone who’s been here before.”

“Didn’t you hear what I _said_? I said no one’s been here and returned alive!”

“Then you didn’t look hard enough. Discord had a lot to say about this place...and the person in charge.”

“Discord?” The practical one kicks distractedly at the ground. “I could never find the creature-”

“You passed within a mile of him, if you’re the one who trapped Applejack in Curst.” Her wide eyes almost want to make you laugh. “You never knew?”

“Those lying bastards! I’ll throw the entire city into the pits of Carceri and see how they like it!”

“I don’t think you can,” you say, and the furious glare of the practical one is a look that could kill, if you could die.

“There is nothing I cannot do,” she growls.

You shrug. “It took a lot out of me moving it out of Carceri, but where I stuck it, I stuck it hard.”

“You…” Her gaze is less poisonous, and more thoughtful. Calculating, you’d have to say, given who she is. “You moved the planes themselves.”

“I suppose.” You don’t think it would do much one way or another to point out you might have actually changed them, and that there might not be such a thing as a portal town any more.

She nods once. “It seems...in the interest of maximizing our chances of success, it would be wiser for _me_ to merge with _you_.”

She takes a step toward you, and you take an instinctive one back. “How do we do that?”

“We meet eyes,” she replies, “and you will me to become a part of you.”

You do so, warily, and almost immediately feel the rock-hard strike of her will against yours. She might have decided your will is strong, but she’s not giving up without a fight.

Even so, it isn’t much of one, and the practical one fades from the world.

You turn to the paranoid, who recoils as the practical one vanishes. “Thief! Body-stealer!”

“Oh, come on,” you growl. “Is this how you treat everybody?”

“You would, too, if you had invisible enemies. Shadows themselves hunt me, and someone distant tries to kill me…” She shivers.

“So what about other people?”

“They all look at me like they know me! They read the scars on my body! They’re all watching!”

You look back to the other incarnation, who offers you a helpless shrug. When you look back at the paranoid, she’s retreated a few steps further. She looks terrified…

“And you keep finding hints of other people, who’ve lived lives that cascade forward to affect you, hurt you.”

“Yesss.”

“They set puzzles and tasks for you to complete, as if you owe them anything at all.”

She steps forward, a growl rising in her chest. “Yes.”

“And you can’t trust anyone or anything, because the planes are a terrifying place, where you can’t even trust yourself.”

“Yes!”

“And then someone who doesn’t owe you anything offers you their help.”

“Wha - no! They’re all liars!”

“Are they?” You take a careful step away from her, in case she decides to leap. “How far did you get in your quest working alone?”

“It...doesn’t matter. You can’t trust anyone.”

“Then how did I get here, while you got mauled to death by a bunch of shadows in the middle of Canterlot?”

“I - I was betrayed!”

“By whom? You never trusted anyone enough for them to betray you! Do you know how I got this far? I had people who helped me, people I trusted, people I loved!” You’re shouting at a paranoid lunatic, and you’re not afraid. You can feel a crystal clarity in your mind. She’s terrified of everything in the planes, and you know she just needs to trust one soul…

“I…” Her eyes are wide and wild, and she’s breathing hard. Now is the time for a little gentleness.

“How can you look at me and see someone to fear, when I’ve walked the same path you have? I _know_ you, and I just want to find a way to stop you from being scared anymore.”

“We’re surrounded by enemies, by shadows.”

“I know. I want to stop the person hunting us from ever trying again. Isn’t that what you want?”

“...Yes.”

“Then let me help you. Together, we’ll be better than either of us alone. And once it’s done, you don’t have to be afraid anymore. There won’t be a thing left in the planes that can hurt you.”

“What...do I have to do?”

“Come here.”

Your incarnation shakes in your embrace, but slowly, the shaking ceases, and you hear one contented sigh before she fades away.

And finally you turn, ready to do battle with the unmarred unicorn, the one you _know_ must be the first, the only one to possess the full knowledge of your cursed life.

She’s smiling at you. “I never thought you’d manage both of them. Are you ready?”

You brace yourself. “Yeah. As ready as I’ll be.”

“Then go ahead: ask.”

“What?”

“I thought you’d want a few answers before I let you take over again.”


	26. The Answer

“Why?”

“You have heard the shape of it. The evils of those that came after me...none of them compare to my crimes. I was doomed to an eternity of torment in the Lower Planes, and so I sought to put off death, to escape the prison that would hold me after life.

“I hoped...there would be time enough to outweigh the evils of that life, but then you forgot. Every life was just a shadow against the reality of my sins.” She offers you a weak smile. “I would tell you my answer to Nightmare’s riddle: it is regret that changed my nature, and set me to set things right. But by then…” She shrugs, helpless. “Maybe you can make sense of the memories I hold. Maybe you can bring an end to this all.” She nods to your saddlebags. “The sphere, the one so well hidden, is the Sensory Stone that holds all I remembered.” She smiles, and fades, and you are alone.

You take out the bronze sphere and hold it in your hooves, bend down your head and press your horn against it, and let the regrets that drew you to the fortress well through you.

The memories of the first sins assault you, as does the regret that drove you to shatter the planes themselves.

And then you hear the whisper of your name, the name that you hid to protect those that came after you.

The knowledge breaks the cage that holds you, and for a moment, you see the greater cage, the one that binds the shadows, and it is the work of a thought to drag yourself to the center of that power, to the rooftops that overlook the darkness of the plane itself, the eternal void.

Five bodies lie motionless in a circle around a figure that kneels on the stonework. You do not look at them, in some hope that by not acknowledging them, they will not be dead. You instead focus on the figure, a winged unicorn sketched in sickly green light, a creature taller and more magnificent than you, wreathed in silver bands that seem to draw the light to them.

_This_ is the foe that holds your mortality...a shape you have seen in every mirror since you remember waking.

This _is_ your mortality, yourself, in your full glory.

SO YOU HAVE COME TO FIGHT ME. SO YOU WILL DIE AGAIN, AS YOU HAVE DONE SO MANY TIMES.

“I came to talk.”

WHAT COULD YOU SAY TO ME THAT WOULD CAUSE ME TO STAY MY HAND? I WISH NOTHING MORE THAN FOR YOUR DESTRUCTION.

“Then at least tell me what you did to my friends.”

I KILLED THEM, AS YOU YOURSELF WOULD HAVE DONE IN TIME. ALL THAT WALK WITH YOU ARE TWISTED BY TORMENT, AND IT IS A MERCY TO BRING THAT TO AN END.

“They were my _friends_.”

AND THEY TRIED TO HARM _ME_. THEY SOUGHT TO STRIKE AT A GOD, AND THEY RECEIVED THEIR JUST REWARD. I GAVE THEM THE CHOICE TO LEAVE, BUT THEY CHOSE INSTEAD TO THROW THEIR LIVES AWAY. FOR YOU.

The creature, the alicorn, does not fly, you see. One of its wings has been torn from its body, strands of green light drifting from the wound.

“What gave you the right?”

_I_ DID NOT BRING THEM HERE. _I_ DID NOT CHOOSE TO FACE THEM. THEIR DEATHS ARE YOURS, AS THE DEATHS OF THE SHADOWS ARE.

“And you will defend yourself...from me?”

I WILL NOT BE RETURNED TO YOUR PRISON OF FLESH. I WILL RETAIN THE POWER THAT FLOWS THROUGH THIS PLACE, AND BE DONE WITH YOU.

You stare at your mortality, at the creature who has for so long hidden here, stretching out its talons to harm you, and you see among its terrible armor, the flash of torment.

“You’re frightened.”

I KNOW NO FEAR. I AM AS A GOD; IN THIS PLACE, I _AM_ A GOD. WITH EVERY LIFETIME ABANDONED, I HAVE SEEN YOU AND GATHERED THE KNOWLEDGE YOU HELD WITHIN IT.

“And yet you use the shadows as your hands. You sent Trixie to fight me. You killed my friends rather than let them face you with me. _What are you afraid of?_ ”

I FEAR NOTHING. NO POWER CAN STAND AGAINST ME.

You look up at her and see the lie, the fear that twists in her breast, as it did in your first incarnation, who feared death, and the paranoid, who feared everything, and the practical, who feared that which she did not understand.

You are not afraid.

And it strikes you that Trixie saw it. She wasn't asking the riddle that has echoed across the planes. She did not ask, ‘What can change the nature of a mare,’ but ‘What _has changed_?’

What has changed?

What has _changed?_

“Before you destroy me, I want to know one thing.”

VERY WELL. WASTE YOUR LAST MOMENTS FOR KNOWLEDGE YOUR DEATH WILL STEAL FROM YOU.

“What can change the nature of a mare?”

THAT IS WHAT YOU ASK? YOU ASK _ME_ THAT FOOLISH RIDDLE? I HAVE WATCHED YOUR COUNTLESS INCARNATIONS STRUGGLE AGAINST THE PLANES THEMSELVES, AND NOTHING HAS CHANGED. **NOTHING** CAN CHANGE THE NATURE OF A MARE.

“You’re wrong,” you say.

IT DOES NOT MATTER WHAT YOU THINK. YOU WILL DIE HERE, AS ALL THE OTHERS HAVE DIED.

Power gathers at your mortality’s horn, but you stare it head-on.

“Do you want to know what it is?”

WHAT?

“The answer?”

I HAVE TOLD YOU THE ANSWER. NOTHING IS THE ANSWER. THE PLANES TURN AND NOTHING CHANGES.

“And yet here I am, where none of my prior incarnations managed to reach. Do you want to know why?”

CEASE YOUR PRATTLING! IF YOU WILL DIE AFTERWARD, YOU MAY TELL ME WHAT YOU BELIEVE IS THE ANSWER TO THAT DAMNED RIDDLE! _WHAT CAN CHANGE THE NATURE OF A MARE?_

“ ** _Friendship._** ”

“Friendship showed a Mercykiller the honesty in the words of a criminal seeking redemption. Friendship offered kindness to a soul that was lost for having abandoned its nature. Friendship showed generosity to one who had lost everything, granting the comfort she so needed. Friendship allowed a slave to shatter her chains and replace them with the bonds of loyalty. Friendship allowed a damned soul the chance to laugh again. Friendship brought me to the end of my journey, to face that which I lost long ago, and it is the strength of **_my friends_** that allows me to stand before you.”

YOUR FRIENDS ARE DEAD, AND THE PLANES TURN ON. THEY CANNOT HELP YOU IN THIS PLACE.

“No,” you whisper. You raise a hoof to your chest. “I told you, their strength is with me. Their **_hearts_** are with me. Even if they are dead, they are **_here with me_** , and you are **_alone_**.”

You look up into her eyes, and you see uncertainty. Whatever untruths your past self gave to Rainbow Dash, you know that there is truth in the circle. A mind that _knows_ itself is strong. Unity, _harmony_ , is a strength that can move the planes.

“Each of our past selves have died because they were alone against the powers of the planes. **_I alone_** have stood with others who knew my **_heart_**. Tell me: who has helped you weather the loneliness of this place? Who has helped you laugh, or embraced you?”

SUCH THINGS ARE MEANINGLESS.

“There is only one way for you to know for certain.”

Your mortality pauses, and you can feel its ire as it watches you.

YOU WOULD HAVE US MERGE AGAIN.

“You could stay here and rot alone.”

You can feel the weight of its thoughts against your certainty. And then something flares in the night, the shadows of the void fighting against a burning flame.

WHAT-

"You hoped Trixie would kill me, or that I would be weakened in trying to kill her. I reached out to her instead, and so she seeks to burn the shadows from this place. A moment of friendship, and an enemy is an ally, buoyed by my faith in her. Think...what could it do for you?”

Your mortality watches the fires as Trixie dances through the sky, threatening to set it aflame. The Fortress shifts, imperceptibly, but the motion is like a lever, force multiplied a thousand times with the right pressure.

THEN LET IT END.

You can feel something nameless fill you, something pouring into the ragged hole in your being. It aches, but when it finishes, when your mortality no longer stands before you, you feel whole. More than that, you feel the knowledge of countless lives within your mind. Knowledge...and power.

Your friends…

You look to them, and reach to the barriers of death. You send a small apology to the Dustmen, and pull.

Coughs and gasps run through them as they scramble to their feet, looking dazedly around them. It take a moment for Rainbow and Pinkie to launch themselves at you, and the others to rush to your side chattering excitedly.

“Hold on,” you whisper, but the words echo strangely with the power you feel. “I...have to go, everyone.”

“Go? Where?”

You look to Rainbow, hoping she can see how reluctantly you say this. “I have to die. That was the point of returning my mortality.”

“But you-” Pinkie snaps her jaw shut. Rainbow, though, sees it, and scowls.

“You don’t deserve that,” she says.

“I do. I really do.” You look to Applejack, who gives you a grim nod. “But...I’ll see you home safe. And…” You close your eyes. The power you hold, fueled by the knowledge of your past incarnations, and the presence of your friends, makes you truly feel you can do _anything_.

**YOU WILL NOT SUFFER, ANY OF YOU. FOR FRIENDSHIP HAS CHANGED THE NATURES THAT SO TORMENTED YOU.**

The Fortress shifts, and you stumble a little.

**AND YOU WILL NOT BE MARKED BY YOUR FAILURES, BUT ONLY BY YOUR TRIUMPHS.**

You feel a strange sensation along your sides; a moment later, the twin symbols of torment branded on your skin float into your field of vision, like ink painted on the air.

You glower at them, and place all of your will into the next words you speak.

**THERE WILL BE NO MORE TORMENT.**

The symbols rip themselves to shreds, and those fragments sublimate until there is nothing left of the symbol that for so long marked you. Those last words take the strength from you, though, and you fall to your knees, gasping. You hear their shouts, and Rainbow, nearest you, is by your side as your vision fades, as it finally, at last, comes to an end.

???

You awaken on a plain soaked with blood, atop a mountain of corpses. Below, you can see the endless war between the forces of evil, and those who wasted their lives. You wait in silence for some direction, but nothing comes.

And then your eye catches sight of the reflection of blood-red light on a blade.

And you _know_ what you are to do.

Tartarus is a place of torment, a war without end.

Dead or not, you will not suffer such a place to exist.

You grip the sword with your magic and pull it free, before trotting down the mountain toward the battlefield.


	27. Epilogue: Where Everypony Knows Your Name

Twilight paused in front of the last mirror. It was shrouded with a black cloth, on which was stitched something achingly familiar-

She jumped at the sense of Celestia pausing behind her. Twilight turned, looking up at her mentor. “What’s behind here?”

“The most important lesson,” Celestia said. “The one you learned long before you ever came to my academy.”

Twilight felt her snout wrinkle as she tried to decipher the princess’ cryptic words. “But I saw Shining Armor and Cadence back there-”

“Long before,” Celestia said. “Look.”

The cloth drew away and Twilight stared as the images within it played out. She shuddered in fear, laughed, cried and cringed at the sight of what she had once been. And then the words rang out in the strange space between worlds. “What can change the nature of a mare? _Friendship_.”

“I…” Twilight turned back to Celestia, uncertain how to frame the question, and hoping that the confusion in her gaze was enough. When Celestia didn’t answer, she turned back to the mirror, where the pony that looked like her had accepted...an eternity of torment. “What does this mean?”

“This is your past, Twilight. Part of everything that made you who you are.”

“How can it make me who I am; I didn't remember all this!" Another thought struck Twilight, and she shivered. "And that pony was supposed to stay in Tartarus until the end of the world!”

Celestia offered Twilight an enigmatic smile. “Technically, you _did_. The world she knew ended, and this one began."

Twilight shook her head. As much as she protested not remembering, the sights of her adventures were awakening dark memories. “No. I know what I did. There was no redemption for that. That’s why I sent them away from me! They couldn’t be happy with me!”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, Twilight.” Celestia nudged Twilight’s gaze back to the mirror, where the five other ponies stood in the Fortress of Regrets, heads bowed. Rainbow Dash was trying hard not to cry, and even Pinkie Pie looked to be on the edge of deflating.

“What…”

“It isn’t RIGHT,” Applejack said.

"Justice?" Rarity asked archly. "One would think-"

"It isn't...RIGHT," Applejack repeated.

“Oh, I know what you mean. She might not have been perfect, but I _will_ miss her."

"Yeah!" Pinkie agreed. "I never would have gotten out of that dusty old Mortuary without her! Plus, she was _epic level_!”

Fluttershy ruffled her wings. "I wouldn’t wish the...Blood War on anyone. Especially her. She was very...kind to me."

Rainbow Dash didn't say anything, but her body language was similar enough to the Rainbow Dash Twilight knew to read Rainbow's huddled posture. She was...miserable. Lonely. Shattered.

Rainbow abruptly straightened, flapping her wings forcefully to make herself seem larger. “So now what? Do we let it all go to waste?"

"Pardon?"

"She said there shouldn't be torment anymore, and that's not going to happen unless we do something about it."

"Um, you mean like helping more people?"

"No. I mean like tearing the planes apart until there's nothing left that make people suffer the way she did."

"Starting, I presume, with Tartarus?"

Rainbow grinned.

“You see?” When Twilight shook her head, Celestia let the curtain close and stepped away, leading Twilight. “You used your power to force the planes to make them happy, Twilight. And they couldn’t do that without you. The world you saw is gone, replaced by this one. And those of us who remembered...well, we thought you deserved a chance. But to do that, we had to test you. We had to know if you’d really changed, if we could let you remember yourself. And you passed, Twilight. I couldn’t imagine anyone doing a better job of it.”

Twilight could feel her heart swell, not just at the praise, at passing, but also the knowledge that her connection to her friends went further and deeper than she’d ever imagined. That at the end, they’d wished for nothing more than to have her by their side.

“And now?” Twilight asked shakily.

“And now...you can do what you like. Come on, we’ve got a coronation to go to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Spike's prophecy is a direct quote from Planescape: Torment, from Black Isle Studios.
> 
> I won't even pretend that the Nameless One isn't Twilight.


End file.
